


Where the Blue Flowers Grow

by CoralinaCorbie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Biting, Derek Has Communication Issues, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Making Out, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Scary Argents, Seduction, Sort of Medieval, also some noncon, some dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralinaCorbie/pseuds/CoralinaCorbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a pack of werewolves is spotted outside the town, Scott decides to go and kill the Alpha in hopes of impressing Allison's parents. Stiles accompanies him, and it's up to him to save Scott from the Argents after things go horribly wrong. Doing so means making a deal with the pack's Alpha, Derek, who is there hunting another werewolf. Meanwhile, in the town Stiles begins to realize that his lover Peter might not be who he says he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as some short little Red Riding Hood meets Teen Wolf thing that popped into my head. Then I went a bit crazy and it turned into Where the Blue Flowers Grow, named thus because I couldn't think of any other title, and simply calling it Little Red Red Riding Hood seemed kind of lazy. And inaccurate, considering how little of the actual Red Riding Hood story made it in.
> 
> So, yeah, please enjoy.

The wolf was a scrawny thing, its pale fur dirt-streaked and matted. Drool dribbled from its mouth as it advanced on the crouched figure. Had it not been for the red cloak they wore, the person could have passed for boulder from Stiles’ vantage point at the top of the town wall.

Stiles found himself growing more and more tense the closer the wolf got to the red lump. He knew what was coming; so did his brother, Scott, standing beside him with anticipation all over his face. They both knew what was coming. The wolf clearly did not, or he wouldn’t have lunged, drool spilling hungrily from his mouth. He was expecting a meal, not the dagger that stabbed into his throat.

The figure in red leaned back as the dagger hit its mark, letting the wolf gut himself with his own momentum. The creature thudded to the ground, his torn throat unable to make a sound, his legs kicking through empty air uselessly, movements slowing as death drew closer. 

Standing, Allison Argent threw back the hood of her cloak, the fabric as red as the blood pooling beside the dying wolf. She turned towards the town and raised her knife. The spectators cheered at another job well done, though none did so louder than Scott. It was her first kill, and worth celebrating, earning some claps even from her stone-faced family. 

“Did you see how effortless that was?” Scott gushed, eyes never straying from the newly-initiated huntress. Stiles smiled a little; Scott never failed to praise anything Allison did, even if it was something as simple as her smiling.

“She’s a natural,” Stiles agreed, far less excited. While everyone else followed Allison’s triumphant walk back towards the town, he watched the wolf’s body. It didn’t stay as a wolf’s for long, beginning to shift just seconds after a final death-twitch from one of the paws. The body quickly grew and lengthened, fur and tail receding, until it was a man lying in the pool of blood, eviscerated just as surely as the carcasses hanging in the butcher’s shop.

It was the part that always bothered Stiles, and kept him from fully joining in the excitement of a successful kill.

In truth, the wolf had done nothing more than dig up a few graves. Any humans he harmed were nothing more than rotting, empty shells, which no longer cared about monsters such as him. If he had arrived only some months sooner or later, he may have been allowed to pass through alive, if not entirely unharmed. But it was Allison’s eighteenth birthday, and time for her to be initiated as a hunter.

The initiation itself was stupid, Stiles thought, watching a group of men run out past the smiling brunette, one of them slowed by the wooden plank he dragged after him. Allison was the best archer in the area, not just in their pint-sized town; given the opportunity, Stiles had no doubt she could handle far more than one half-starved omega, and she could do it without getting as close as she had just now.

“Come on!” Scott said, giving his sleeve a quick tug before dashing towards the ladder. Stiles waited, letting the rest of the spectators make their way down. While he waited, he watched the men — two were crouched around the body, blocking it from view, while a third was digging a hole into the cliff’s arid soil.

Nothing had grown on the surface of Beacon Cliff for generations, except for the sparse clumps of blue flowers — wolf’s bane — which were purposely cultivated as a warning to werewolves. For those too bold or too stupid to be deterred by the poisonous plants, there was a more direct warning:

The hole finished, the wooden plank was slid down inside and two nails hammered into the top, one on each side. The werewolf’s body was dragged forward, and the end of the noose now around its neck was looped over the nails. With the job finished, the men headed back towards the safety of the town wall, leaving the body swaying gently, almost fully upright.

Stiles turned away and clambered his way down the ladder.

Scott’s mouth was plastered against the younger huntress’s when Stiles finally joined the celebratory townspeople. He raised an eyebrow as the two of them mashed their faces together, Allison looking surprised but far from displeased. 

Stiles glanced around until he found the three faces in the crowd that were, predictably, not smiling or cheering for the eager young couple: the Argents. Allison’s father and grandfather were frowning, which was scary enough, but her mother looked like she was ready to violently murder something — if not Scott himself, then his manhood.

“Idiots,” Stiles sighed to himself, putting warning his brother at the top of his to-do list.

“Jealous?”

Long fingers curled their way through Stiles’ hair, pulling his head back possessively but gently enough that there was no pain. Stiles didn’t resist, meeting the pair of grinning eyes above him. He shook his head as much as he could, smiling back.

“Look at Allison’s mother,” he said. “She looks like she’s about to castrate Scott on the spot.”

Peter chuckled, blue eyes flickering briefly in the direction of the short-haired woman. Then they were back on Stiles, darker than before. He ducked his head down suddenly, nipping at Stiles’ throat, making the boy gasp. Stiles leaned into the muscular body behind him, letting it support his weight as the feeling of tongue and teeth against his neck seemed to rob the strength from his legs.

The irony on him doing exactly what he had been making fun of his brother for just seconds before was not lost on him, even as Peter quickly turned his thoughts into a muddled mess. He knew he should put an end to it, especially when a rough hand began to creep its way under his shirt, but he couldn’t form the necessary words. 

Ever since his father had guessed the nature of his son’s relationship with Peter, he had started finding increasingly creative ways to keep them apart; he employed everything from pointless chores to somehow convincing the Argents that the town needed a pumpkin patch (which Stiles would, of course, be more than happy to tend). Stiles hadn’t seen Peter for more than a handful of minutes at a time for the past week. 

An angry throat-clearing made them both freeze. Stiles stumbled out of Peter’s grasp and muttered a quick apology to a disapproving old woman.

“So, do you want to wait for those two to detach so we can congratulate the lovely Miss Argent, or” — Peter ducked down again, letting his breath tickle Stiles’ ear, his voice fading to a whisper — “do you want to call it a day? It has been such a long day.”

Quickly, to avoid more disapproving stares, he ground himself up against Stiles. If Stiles had had any desire to stick around, it was quickly replaced by a different and much more urgent desire. All the excitement for the initiation had left the Sheriff distracted, giving Stiles the perfect chance to slip away for a few hours. He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

~~

It took them longer than usual to get to Peter’s house. Every time they reached an alley, Peter would pull them into it and push Stiles against a wall, hands reaching under his clothes and teeth biting at the skin of his neck with more and more strength. 

“Don’t leave a mark,” he reminded Peter the first few times, but soon gave up when it became obvious he had no intention of listening. Whatever. He would deal with it later. Maybe find a scarf to wear. He needed all his willpower to pull out of each alley, a task which grew increasingly more difficult. Stiles was determined to reach a bed before they went any further. He had let Peter fuck him against a wall once, back when they had first met, and the cold, rough bricks had him regretting the decision for a week.

When they finally managed to trip over themselves into the small one-room house, Peter threw Stiles down on the bed so hard the headboard banged into the wall, kicking up a cloud of dust as some of the mortar came loose. They both took a few seconds to struggle out of their clothes, tearing a few seams in the process. Then Peter pounced on Stiles, knocking loose more dust. Clearly satisfied with whatever foreplay they had achieved in the alleys, he flipped Stiles over with an ease that was still surprising, even after a year together.

Peter was stronger than he looked, which was saying something. It was also a large part of the problem with sex on anything but a soft surface.

Stiles barely had time to prop himself up before three spit-slicked fingers slid into him, stretching him open, and he really shouldn’t have bothered. His whole body was quivering as he pushed back, rocking in time with Peter’s thrusts, his breaths coming out in gasps. The addition of a fourth finger, twisting its way inside, almost caused him to collapse. He knew he would collapse, soon.

“Peter,” he moaned, pushing back insistently, unable to form a more coherent request. It was enough. The fingers immediately disappeared, leaving Stiles painfully empty for an instant. Then something thicker filled the space. There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh as Peter drove his whole length inside in a single thrust. Without pausing, he pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in again. Stiles’s limbs did give out then, and he crumpled, gasping, to the mattress.

Peter had always had that effect on him, turning him boneless as soon as his cock pushed in. Luckily he didn’t seem to mind. He paused just long enough to get a grip on Stiles’ hips and tilt them into position. Then he proceeded to fuck Stiles senseless — even more so than he already was, which didn’t seem possible. Stiles doubted it would be with anyone but Peter.

It was like being caught in a storm. All Stiles could do was gasp and moan, and claw weakly at the mattress in a futile attempt to keep from being blown away. The bedframe creaked and thumped rhythmically against the wall; a steady stream of dust and bits of plaster rained down. Stiles’ eyes watered, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not about that, and not about whether or not they were disturbing the neighbors. Chances were they were with the rest of the town anyway, applauding the Argent family for producing another gifted hunter to protect them from the supernatural.

Almost as though he could read his thoughts, Peter leaned down and asked, “Tell me about the kill.”

Doing so meant that he couldn’t thrust as hard, and Stiles let out a whine, jerking up against Peter to urge him on. But the older man just tightened his grip, immobilizing Stiles’ hips, and slowed his movements until he was doing little more than grinding against Stiles’ ass. “Tell me,” he repeated. “I’ll stop if you don’t.”

The threat of stopping when he was so close to coming was motivation enough for Stiles to arrange together enough of his thoughts to groan out, “Easy . . . stupid . . . it jumped right at her.” He was in too much of a haze to wonder why Peter wanted to know about the kill right in the middle of sex. His own cock was throbbing, ready for release, the tip dripping fluid onto the bed. He didn’t bother trying to reach for it; he could barely move, much less coordinate. He needed Peter to keep going, needed him to keep pounding into him. “Please, Peter,” he begged, trying unsuccessfully to move. He was held in place as surely as if he were in the grip of a statue.

Peter stopped completely for just a second, pulling out all the way. Stiles started to protest, but in the next instant Peter was moving again. He gripped Stiles’ hair as he thrust back in all the way, so hard his balls slapped almost painfully against Stiles’, and pulled him up so that they were pressed together, back to chest. His arms wrapped around the smaller body, trapping him in place as he did the impossible, moving even faster than before.

His voice joined Stiles’ then, whose moans had turned into half-screams as Peter pulsed around him, inside and out. Peter’s muscles were straining, sweat trickling down his arms and between their bodies. He stiffened suddenly, his grip on his lover tightening to the point that Stiles swore he heard bones creak. Peter slammed his hips upwards twice more, more slowly but no more gently. He reached down and gave Stiles’ neglected cock a few quick jerks, biting down where neck met shoulder as he did so. 

Stiles shuddered as he came, his vision blurring to gray; he would have cried out if his voice hadn’t suddenly stopped working. Peter pulled out with a satisfied sigh, but kept his arms locked around Stiles, his mouth still pressed where he had bitten down. For a few minutes, their breathing was the only sound. Peter began to nibble his way up Stiles’ neck lazily until he reached his jaw. With a finger, he turned his head until their lips could touch.

Stiles kissed back sloppily, too exhausted to know what he was doing. Small shudders were still running through his body, and his vision hadn’t cleared yet. In some small part of his mind that was just beginning to sort itself out, Stiles knew that he was going to be sore later. Not for some time, he thought. All he felt right then was a pleasant numbness, and he could feel sleep creeping in. He would soon fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and awaken rested but aching. It would be worth it, though. It was always worth it.

“One more time?” Peter asked, running both hands along Stiles’ chest and stomach. The smile was clear in his voice, and Stiles could imagine the humor in his blue eyes, mixed with some leftover lust. He could do it again, Stiles knew. He had made the mistake of challenging him once, curious to see how many times Peter could make him come before tiring himself out. He had barely been able to walk for two days, and hadn’t gotten an answer to his question, having passed out and lost count sometime after the tenth time. Peter had claimed the number was twenty; Stiles hadn’t been sure what to believe. With the way he had felt, it seemed plausible, but Peter had that twinkle in his eyes when he’d said it. Stiles’ curiosity hadn’t been great enough to retry the experiment. 

Stiles was already half-asleep as he turned to Peter and mumbled, “You’re funny.” He was only partly aware as he was laid on his side, and then maneuvered some time later so he was in the curve of Peter’s body. He assumed Peter had cleaned up, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead he snuggled against the other man, and allowed himself to drift off.

~~

He awoke to the gray light of dawn, and spent a few minutes blinking and grimacing as his eyes adjusted and the consequences of sex made themselves unpleasantly present. Stiles pressed himself against Peter’s warm back, trying to go back to sleep. When unconsciousness refused to come, Stiles rose with a groan, unable to stay in bed once he was fully awake. 

“Shit,” he muttered, glaring at the back of Peter’s head, as he realized he had spent the night, and would have to deal with his father when he got home. First, his worry, and then, once he had assessed that his son was unharmed, his anger.

Standing was not a pleasant experience, and walking was even less so. He grumbled as he slipped into some semi-clean clothes before grabbing an apple that happened to be lying around and limping his way out the door. The town had a number of ladders, allowing for patrols to reach the platforms running just below the top of the town wall. On the few occasions when he found himself awake this early, Stiles liked to climb up and watch the sunrise. Something about the way the early morning light hit Beacon Cliff made it look a little less bleak and lifeless.

Stiles had to pause halfway up after a particularly piercing complaint from his body. He let his head fall against one of the rungs, silently praying that Scott wouldn’t notice if he walked a little funny. He would, of course —he always did, and his face took on the expression of a mischievous puppy just before he made some comment that left his brother’s face red — but there was nothing wrong with being a little optimistic every now and then. Stiles took a single bite of the apple, chewed slowly, and stuck the fruit back between his teeth before continuing upwards.

Once he had made it to the top, he leaned against the wall, arms draped over the top as he bit into the apple again. Past the edge of Beacon Cliff, on the other side of the river that flowed at its base, the sun was rising over the distant treetops, turning the horizon a bright yellow-orange, broken up here and there by a splash of red. Stiles sighed as he chewed lazily, enjoying the view through half-shut eyes.

A flash of movement drew his gaze downwards, and he froze, eyes now wide-open as what he saw drove away any sleepiness.

Four wolves were making their way across the cliff, nimbly avoiding the clumps of wolf’s bane. Stiles couldn’t make out much detail, not from that distance and with the sun in his eyes, but he could make out that two of the wolves were paler, and smaller than the two large dark wolves, one of which ran a few yards ahead of the rest.

It brought its pack to a halt just before reaching the still-swaying corpse, hanging limply against the plank. Please be normal wolves, please be normal wolves, Stiles begged silently, his plea directed at any deity, spirit, or even tree nymph that happened to be listening. Sometimes normal wolves were drawn by the presence of their supernatural kin, even a dead presence.

When the wolves did nothing but sniff around, Stiles released the breath he had been holding. They were just animals. Just curious animals. Then the leader turned and sprinted towards the town, stopping close enough that Stiles had a clear view of his hopes being dashed. The wolf body lengthened and straightened, its tail and fur receding. In seconds, the black wolf was replaced by a black-haired man with tanned skin.

Stiles flinched as the werewolf looked up and their eyes met. They watched one another, unmoving, until the stranger’s eyes flashed red, and Stiles all but threw himself down the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the beginning of the first fanfiction I've written in years. It's also my first serious attempt at writing sex scenes of any kind, so constructively criticize away because I kind of feel like I just jumped into the ocean before learning how to swim properly. Or relearning, in this case, I suppose.
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoyed the story so far! Do come back for more!


	2. Bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone who read the first chapter!

Standing before the four Argents — Allison now had her own seat in the town hall, between her parents — and telling them what he’d seen had to be the most nerve-wracking thing he’d ever done, second only to the first two dozen times he’d spoken to Peter, back when the man had first arrived in the town. They listened, expressionless at first, but with an increasing amount of something in their eyes. Something that flared to life when he mentioned the red-eyed werewolf.

“An Alpha,” Gerard Argent said. It was the first time Stiles had heard the old man speak, and he wished it could be the last. There was something in his voice that made Stiles want to hide under his bed, preferably with numerous knives and a small crossbow.

Not for the first time, he wondered how such a terrifying family had produced the girl with the pretty brown eyes whose cheeks dimpled when she smiled. Despite having just killed something for the first time, she looked anything but threatening, sitting there trying to look serious and attentive, while at the same time picking at her nails.

“We should double the patrols,” Chris Argent said, “until we know why they’re here.”

“We should go out and kill them,” Victoria Argent countered.

“We have a code.”

“Peter,” Gerard cut in, gaze shifting to Stiles’ left, where Peter stood just a few feet back, so he was in some of the darker shadows. Stiles didn’t blame him. “That’s your name, right?”

Peter nodded, expression unreadable.

“Did you see the werewolves?”

Peter shook his head. “I was sleeping, until he” — he gestured at Stiles — “burst in shouting like a crazy person.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Peter, who quirked an eyebrow. Gerard Argent cleared his throat, reminding both of them of where they were. Stiles spun back around with a look that made everyone but Victoria Argent chuckle. Giggle, in Allison’s case.

Thankfully, Gerard dismissed them after that. Stiles had to force himself not to bolt.

 

Outside, Peter suggested quietly that they return to his house. Stiles started to decline, thinking of his father. If he hadn’t already guessed where his son had been all night, he would before nightfall thanks to Allison and Scott’s inability to keep anything from each other. Stiles knew he was in trouble, and so, he thought as Peter kissed him persuasively, why not make the trouble worth it?

Again Stiles ended up staying longer than he’d planned. Every time he managed to think long enough to realize just how long he’d been there, all it took was a touch from Peter and any urgent need he’d had to get home went the way of his self-control. A piece of wall falling on his head and the angry shouting of neighbors finally got him dressed and out the door, though not before Peter managed to catch him and pull him down to the floor for another ten minutes that left his knees bruised.

The sun had reached and was dropping past its peak when he finally reached the Sheriff’s house, and tried to slip stealthily past a door that wouldn’t stop creaking. His father was sitting in the kitchen, holding a book that he slammed shut against the table when Stiles tried to sneak by. Stiles quietly sat down, and waited.

“How are you?” his father asked, voice level for the time being.

“Never better.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yep.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Not by yourself, from what Scott tells me.”

“I may have been with a friend.”

“Hmm. Would this be the friend that is far too old for you?”

“He’s not that old, Dad,” Stiles said, pouting.

“Really? Because he looks _a lot_ closer to my age than yours.” His voice had started to rise, incrementally but steadily. “Do you even know how old he is?”

“Not as old as he looks, but not as young as he could be.”

“What does that even mean?”

Stiles shrugged. He didn’t know either, but it was the only answer he’d ever gotten on the subject of Peter’s age.

“Do you not see how suspicious he is? He just appears at the gates a year ago, and hardly ever talks to anyone but you. Even you don’t know how old he is or where he’s from. For all you know, ‘Peter’ isn’t even his real name.”

“What’s he going to do, Dad? Abduct me?”

“Maybe!” the Sheriff burst out, temper fraying. “I don’t know, you don’t know. All anyone knows is that he’s interested in teenage boys.”

“He’s interested in _a_ teenage boy,” Stiles snapped back, not liking the insinuation that Peter was sleeping with someone else.

His father’s face was turning red, but Scott’s mother walked in right then, looking disapproving. “Please, boys, no shouting.”

The Sheriff’s mouth was half open, but snapped shut then. He crossed his arms, and grunted. Melissa ducked down to plant a kiss on his forehead before making her way back out of the kitchen.

 

“I’m going to marry her.”

It was some hours later, and the Stilinski-McCall family was seated down for dinner. The tension between Stiles and his father encouraged silence, and made for a somewhat awkward atmosphere. Perhaps for that reason, Scott felt the need to speak. Why he thought that was the best thing to say to lighten things up, Stiles didn’t know. It broke the tension, certainly, but it was too much, like using a sledgehammer to kill a mosquito.

It left the Sheriff and Stiles choking on whatever they had been swallowing at the time, and turned Melissa pale. Scott looked around with wide, concerned eyes, clearly not sure why half his family suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The Sheriff was the first to respond with a raspy, watery-eyed, “What?!”

“I’m marrying Allison,” Scott repeated firmly.

“Oh, God,” Melissa said, face descending into her hands, while Stiles mumbled angrily, “Oh, sure, Peter’s a child-loving psychopath but Scott gets to marry the girl from the Argent family.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“No one is getting married.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Oh, God.”

Stiles took an angry bite of his chicken as his family exploded around him. “They’re never going to let her marry you.”

“What, why?!

“Because you’re not a hunter.”

“No one is getting married!”

“Well, I volunteered for the patrols!”

“ _What?!_ ” everyone at the table burst out, the volume varying but the shock consistent.

“I’m going to prove myself to the Argents, and then they’ll let her marry me.”

“What were you thinking?” Melissa snapped. “There is an Alpha werewolf out there, Scott!”

“Yeah, and if they send out a hunting party, I’m going with them.”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Scott, honey — ”

His face angry and determined, Scott stood suddenly and bolted out of the room. Everyone was silent as they listened to the sounds of his footsteps, stomping up the stairs. When neither Melissa nor the Sheriff said anything else, Stiles stood and went after his brother. Scott was in their room, lying face down on his bed. He didn’t move when Stiles walked in, but his muffled voice came from the pillow: “I will marry her.”

Stiles turned on one of them lamps before replying, “I know you love her and all that, brother, but you could spend the next year patrolling and the Argents would still never allow it.”

“I’ll kill the Alpha.”

“Come on, brother, even if they do send out a hunting party, do you really think you’ll be their first choice? The kid with the breathing problems?”

“I’ll go by myself. Later tonight.”

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But Scott wasn’t listening. He had rolled off the bed and was pulling up one of the floorboards. From the hole, he produced half a dozen daggers.

“I’m going,” Scott declared, looking up with the same determination as when he’d announced his intention to marry Allison. “I’d feel better if you came with me, but I understand if you don’t want to. Either way, I’m going.”

“I could tell Dad and Melissa.”

Scott shrugged. “They can’t lock me up forever. I’ll escape eventually.”

Stiles’ mouth felt dry. He licked his lips a few times before pointing out, “You have six daggers.”

Scott nodded.

“There are four werewolves out there.”

Nod.

“One of them is an Alpha.”

Nod.

“They have claws, sharp teeth, and they’ll be able to hear, smell, and see us while we’re stumbling around half-blind in the dark.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to come.”

Stiles threw his head back with a frustrated sigh. “Of course I’m coming,” he said, heart-pounding as he thought of facing the red-eyed wolf and his pack.

 

They slipped out late that night, through a gap in the wall that they had discovered together several months before. The knives were slipped into their belts, three each, and they carried unlit lanterns. If they were seen leaving, not only would their little adventure be over and Scott’s chance at romance gone, but the Argents would punish them. For their own good, of course, but punishment was still punishment, and Stiles would rather tend a hundred pumpkin patches than face the wrath of the Argents.

The run across the lifeless ground surrounding the town, dimly lit by a crescent moon, was easy enough, if tiring. Stiles watched Scott carefully for signs that breathing was becoming difficult. Things got tricky when they reached the trees. The lanterns lit fine, but picking their way through the tangle of vegetation that was the forest was more difficult, and accomplished only with much stumbling and branch-breaking, the snapping of which seemed painfully loud.

It occurred to Stiles that they didn’t actually know where the werewolves were. They may have even left, he thought hopefully. Maybe seeing one of their own slashed open had been enough to scare them off. The Alpha’s red eyes glowed in his memory, dashing that idea.

Several minutes later and they had stumbled over branches, roots, and rocks, but no werewolves. Both of them were panting, Scott more so, and it was while watching him worriedly that Stiles managed trip badly and go sprawling. There was the sound of breaking glass, and his lantern went out.

“This is pointless,” Stiles complained as he picked himself up. “If there are any wolves out here, they’re probably enjoying the show.”

“Maybe you should try being on top. Then you wouldn’t be so clumsy all the time.”

It took Stiles a few seconds to get what he meant, and he glared at Scott when he did. “Who says I’m not?”

Scott just laughed and extended a hand. Stiles used it to pull himself up, and they continued their search with one less lantern. The darkness was deeper without it, and the boys kept close to one another, almost touching, both of them clutching at a dagger handle.

“We should go back,” Stiles said after a while. “We’re never going to find them.”

“We’ll find them.”

“Brother — ”

Scott clapped his hand over Stiles’ mouth, hitting him in the nose in the process. Stiles’ eyes watered as he tugged at Scott’s hand, and it took him a few moments to notice that his other hand was raised, one finger pointing ahead of them. Stiles blinked a few times before he saw it, a distinctly human shape moving through the trees. Scott started to raise one of his daggers, but Stiles grabbed his wrist. “Are you stupid? You’ll never hit it,” he hissed through the other boy’s hand. But Scott threw it anyway. The small weapon disappeared into the dark and thunked against a tree somewhere, gone forever. The distant figure stopped and growled.

“Oh, great,” Stiles gasped, as Scott’s hand fell off his face. “We should run.”

“Not before we find the Alpha.”

Before Stiles could convince him otherwise, or simply drag him away, more growling came from the forest on either side of them, louder than before. The human shape dropped down and out of sight, no doubt shifting into something more appropriate for killing hapless teenagers.

Stiles found himself standing pressed against his brother’s back, clutching his dagger with both hands and unable to see anything with the light on Scott’s side. The growls intensified and he caught a flash of yellow before a dark mass hurtled itself at him. He brought his knife up, hoping this werewolf would be as stupid as the Omega yesterday and impale itself.

 _I should really stop hoping_ , Stiles thought as the wolf landed a few feet short of him, hackles raised and teeth bared. There was enough light from Scott’s shaking lantern to illuminate the wolf’s pale coat. Movement from his right made Stiles turn his head in time to see the other pale wolf come into view. Its eyes also glowed yellow.

“Please tell me the Alpha is on your side,” Stiles said, voice shaking.

Scott’s head moved against Stiles’. “Yellow eyes.” His voice was even less steady than his brother’s; his whole body was shaking.

“Damn it.”

All the wolves leapt at once. Scott and Stiles tripped over one another, both trying to escape their respective attackers. Stiles heard the second lantern break as he fell, and his last sight before darkness descended was of the first pale wolf leaping at him, mouth open and ready to kill.

Before Stiles could think to bring his dagger up, a crushing weight landed on his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Wheezing, he thrashed weakly, trying futilely to shake off the large animal. Hard fangs touched his throat; Stiles froze, feeling the creature’s cool saliva sliding down his skin. Scott was still shouting, scrambling about as he tried to keep away from the wolves, but Stiles was frozen. He couldn’t even bring himself to answer when his name was called. The only sound he could produce was a tiny sob when the sharp points of the wolf’s teeth started to press against his skin, the creature’s powerful jaws slowly closing.

 _I’m going to die_.

“Stop.”

The new voice wasn’t loud or particularly forceful, but the wolf pinning Stiles down stopped biting down. Its fangs were still pressed against his neck, but it wasn’t actively trying to kill him, so that was good.

“Let them up.”

The weight pushed off his chest, leaving Stiles gasping, both in relief and out of a need for air. He hurried to his feet; somewhere nearby, he could hear Scott doing the same, though with considerably less coughing. He held his throat as he looked around, feeling an irrational need to hold on to it, like it was about to run away and hop into a sharp-toothed mouth. The wolves’ eyes glowed eerily, three pairs of yellow cutting through the dark. Above them, at the height that a human’s would be, glowed a fourth pair. They burned a fiery red, and bobbed up and down as the werewolf stepped closer. Stiles could just make out his outline; it was a nice outline.

“Why are you here?”

Nice voice, too.

Neither of the boys spoke. The red eyes moved back and forth. With a frustrated growl, he closed the distance between him and Stiles. Clawed fingers closed around the boy’s throat, pulling him against a warm and very naked body.

“I know you can’t see, so let me make it clear: if you don’t answer my question, I’m ripping out your friend’s throat.”

Scott only hesitated for a second. “I came here to kill you.”

“Why?”

He paused for longer at that question, answering only when Stiles cried out at the feeling of the claws jabbing into his flesh.

“So I can get married.”

The claws loosened their hold. “Excuse me?” The werewolf sounded understandably baffled by the statement.

Stiles took over then, trying to salvage the situation. “He wants to impress the Argents so they’ll let their daughter marry him, and he thought killing an Alpha werewolf on his own was the best way to do it. He’s an idiot. We’re both idiots, actually, I suppose, since I’m out here with him. So please don’t kill us. We’re blinded by love . . . And stupidity.”

“You know the Argents?”

“Oh, sure, they run the town. I take it you know them too.” A rumble vibrated through the wolf-man’s chest. “And, possibly, don’t like them. Hey, I don’t blame you. They scare me. We are in no way affiliated, except that they run the town I live in. I’ve only spoken — ”

The claws closed back around his throat. “Stop talking.”

Stiles wanted to swallow, but was afraid was afraid of cutting himself on the sharp points.

“Now, I want to know if either of you has seen a black wolf. Answer me!” he growled when the humans remained silent.

“Which is it,” Stiles croaked, “’stop talking’ or ‘answer me’?”

“Answer!” he snarled.

“Other than you, no. What about you, Scott?”

“No black wolves here.”

The Alpha let out a frustrated sound and told his Betas, “Watch him. I can’t tell if they’re lying when they’re so scared.” Then he was shoving Stiles forward, ignoring his protests and questions as he half-dragged him through the forest. Stiles was light-headed from lack of oxygen by the time he found himself dumped on a moonlit lakeshore.

He looked around, confused. “The lake? We should be farther than that.”

“You idiots were walking in circles,” the Alpha said mockingly.

Stiles glared up at him, but the retort he had been about to give was quickly forgotten as he got his first semi-decent look at the Alpha’s human form. It was a very nice form, with bulging muscles that more than rivalled Peter’s. The face wasn’t bad either. What was he like — ? The Alpha dropped into a crouch just as Stiles’ gaze started to travel downwards. The twin spots of red were extinguished as the werewolf leaned in, bracketing the smaller human with his ridiculously thick arms. Their faces were inches apart as he asked quietly, “Like what you see?”

Stiles let out a single, hysterical laugh because, yes, he liked it very much, and it seemed insane that he found a monster — who had threatened to kill him — sexually attractive.

The Alpha leaned in a bit closer. “Now, calm down. Are you and your friend telling the truth?” Their lips brushed gently, and Stiles’ cock twitched.

“Yes,” he breathed through a strange mix of lust and fear.

“There haven’t been any others like me?”

“That Omega was the first werewolf in over a year,” Stiles answered, unable to look anywhere but at the Alpha’s face. There was a slight curl to his lips as he leaned forward and planted a too-brief kiss on Stiles’ parted ones. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“No black wolves? None that look like me? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Stubble scratched against Stiles’ face as the werewolf kissed him again, more deeply this time, though still not as deep as he would have liked.

“Any men with burned faces?”

“No.”

Stiles pressed forward on the next kiss; the werewolf made a small sound that may have been surprise, but didn’t pull away and lingered longer. Their tongues had just touched when he broke their third kiss.

“Any chance a werewolf could have made it into the town?”

“Mountain ash.”

“Of course.”

Stiles was anticipating another kiss, but the Alpha had other plans. He stood suddenly, pulling the boy up with him by his shirt. Then before Stiles had fully processed that he had just been seduced by a werewolf, he was being dragged back into the forest.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice called when he heard the two of them approaching.

“I’m fine, brother.”

“So,” the Alpha said, still gripping Stiles’ shirt, “what am I going to do with you two?”

Whatever he had intended, the decision was taken from him by a whistling, followed by one of his Betas yipping in pain. More arrows cut through the air and the sound of panicked wolves filled the air. One must have hit the Alpha, because he jerked suddenly, losing his hold on Stiles as he cried out.

Then they were all gone, and the prettiest voice Stiles had ever heard called out, “Are you guys alright? I didn’t hit one of you, did I?”

“Allison!” Scott called. “What are you doing here?”

There was some shuffling around as they found each other and presumably hugged. Stiles stayed sitting on the forest floor; he didn’t think they would appreciate it if he turned it into a group hug.

“Saving you idiots!” Allison said. “Stiles told me what you were planning so I followed. You guys were so aimless, I lost track of you.”

“How are you walking around without a light?”

“It’s not that dark if you let your eyes adjust.”

It was true. Stiles still couldn’t see very well, but the forest was in shades of gray now, rather than the pitch black that it had been. He looked over at the tall lump that was Scott and Allison, still pressed together. He let out a relieved sigh.

He shouldn’t have bothered.

“Scott, are you bleeding?”

Stiles was on his feet in a second and stumbling towards his brother. Allison was pulling up his shirt; Scott hissed as she touched his side.

“One of them must have bitten me.”

“Which one? Scott, which one?! If it was the Alpha . . . ”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, sounding like he was about to cry.

Stiles squinted and carefully ran his fingers over the bloody teeth marks. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t be sure, but: “The shape is wrong for a wolf.” He looked at Allison, hand trembling as he wiped his fingers on the ground. “The Alpha was the only one in human form.”

Neither of them had a response to that. They looked at one another, worry clear even though the night prevented them from seeing it on one another’s faces. An Alpha bite meant one of two possible futures, and neither was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case anyone is wondering why the Sheriff doesn't just arrest Peter's ass . . . I suppose because people weren't as creeped out by underage stuff back then as they are now. You know, unless the person was like ten years old or something like that. So, yeah, the Sheriff doesn't like it but he can't actually arrest Peter for it either.


	3. Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! They are sweet nourishment for my creativity.

The walk back into town was uncomfortably silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Allison walked with them as far as the Sheriff’s house; after a quick kiss and an awkward hug, she stood watching Scott walk inside, hand pressed to his side. Stiles stopped her as she was turning away.

“Allison, if Scott becomes a werewolf . . . your parents . . . ”

She looked tired, her eyelids drooping and her hair in disarray and he suddenly felt guilty for suggesting that she would turn Scott in. “Stiles, I _want_ him to become a werewolf. At least that way he’ll be alive, and we can figure something out. We can’t do that if he’s dead.” She gave him a quick, one-armed hug. “I’m not telling anyone.” Stiles nodded and watched her leave, running a hand through his hair anxiously.

As he was stepping inside, a flash of red at the edge of his vision had him spinning around. His heartbeat stuttered and his hand flew to one of his two remaining daggers. How could the Alpha be in the town? But there was nothing there. He scanned the buildings lining the town’s crooked main street, but saw no evidence of anyone — or anything — else. Shaken, he hurried inside and made sure to latch the door.

In the bedroom, he found Scott sitting on the floor with his back against his bed. He looked utterly miserable, like a puppy that had just been beaten. “She’s going to leave me,” he whined, big brown eyes wide and heartbroken .

Stiles sat on the edge of the bed. “No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is. Her family hunts werewolves. She’s never going to speak to me again.”

Stiles sighed. Only Scott would be so dumb that he was more concerned about whether or not the pretty girl would talk to him again, rather than what the pretty girl’s family would do to him, or more importantly, if he would even survive the transformation.

 ~~

Stiles slept poorly that night, waking up several times. He would listen, heart beating painfully in his chest, until he Scott made some noise, reassuring him that he was still alive. A few times, when the silence stretched on for too long, he got out of his bed and walked over to his brother’s. Each time he awoke, he stayed awake longer, despite his growing exhaustion. He couldn’t sleep, not when he might wake up to a cold corpse.

Scott was still breathing and pining for his love the next morning. The bite had taken; the teeth marks had healed completely, leaving no evidence that the wound had ever existed. It brought a whole new batch of problems, the most pressing of which was that there was going to be a full moon in a few weeks. They met up with each other later that day, and after Scott was reassured that Allison still loved him, and still wanted to be with him forever, they got down to business. Stiles was relieved.

Allison was the only one who knew something about newly-turned werewolves, and what she did know wasn’t much. They were unpredictable, more so during the first few months. They could learn to control the shift, but without another werewolf to teach them how, it would take longer. Allison was put in charge of learning more, but a search through her family’s bestiary didn’t turn up anything useful, and she didn’t dare ask her parents or grandfather directly. They were left with little to do but keep a close eye on him.

Scott joined the patrols as planned, despite the continued protests of Melissa and the Sheriff. Stiles maintained that doing so was stupid, but of course his opinion was ignored. As the first week passed, certain changes made themselves present. Scott grew stronger — not werewolf strong, not yet, but his muscles did seem to grow more defined. And his breathing problems stopped altogether. Neither Scott nor Allison had any complaints. When Scott’s face started breaking into satisfied grins more often than usual, Stiles suspected they were taking advantage of the perks of lycanthropy.

Peter was strangely absent during that time. Not once did he come up behind the boy and whisper in his ear; Stiles went to his house twice, hoping to find him, but the door was locked and no one answered his knocks. Stiles worried, but pushed his concerns to the back of his mind. He was too stressed about Scott’s situation to put anymore effort into finding Peter, especially when, one week before the full moon, dead animals started showing up. There was a handful of them scattered about the town every morning, throats either slashed or torn out. Until two days before the anticipated moon, Stiles refused to believe that his brother had done it, though there was no other explanation.

He couldn’t deny it any longer, however, after he awoke to find Scott sneaking back into their room through the window, covered in dirt and a concerning amount of blood. Neither of them said a word. Scott rushed off to clean up before the Sheriff and Melissa woke, leaving Stiles pacing the room, a bad idea turning into a desperate decision that he was sure he would regret.

That night, he snuck back out of the town, using the nearly-full moon to light his way. He headed in the general direction of the lake, one of his two remaining daggers gripped in his right hand. He doubted it would be anymore useful this time around, but it made him feel better.

The werewolves were in human form when they found him. There were two boys, one fair and curly-haired, and the other tall and dark-skinned. Between stood a girl with long, blonde hair, who wasted no time in striding forward and hitting Stiles in the head, leaving half-conscious as they dragged him through the forest.

He soon found himself tied to a tree, staring up at the three smirking Betas.

“Was that really necessary?” Stiles asked, referring to his aching head.

“Was it necessary for your girl to shoot us full of arrows?” asked the curly-haired boy, Stiles’ last dagger in his hand.

“She was the other boy’s girl,” the female Beta corrected. “This one likes other boys.”

“Oh, right, the one Derek got talking with a few little kisses.”

Derek. That had to be the Alpha.

“Where is Derek?” Stiles asked. “I need to talk to him.”

Curly chuckled. “Well, he doesn’t need to talk to you. You’re all ours, as far as he’s concerned.”

All at once, six sets of claws came out, and the Betas faces turned into a picture of monstrous yellow-eyed glee. Stiles struggled against the ropes as Curly ran the dagger’s blade along his neck.

“I’m going to finish what I started the other night.” The weapon’s sharp tip was moved to his shoulder and pushed in. “But first, I think I’ll pay you back for the Argent girl’s arrows.” Stiles’ shoulder burned as the blade pushed in further and further, piercing his flesh slowly so as to make it hurt more.

“My brother is going to turn into a werewolf the night after tomorrow,” Stiles shouted; if Derek wasn’t close enough to hear, or didn’t care, then he was probably going to die. Slowly. “Are you just going to abandon one of your own?”

The Alpha did care, it turned out. He came striding out from behind a cluster of trees, wearing only a pair of tattered black pants. Stiles was in too much pain right then to appreciate the sight of his naked torso.

“Leave him alone, Isaac.”

“Oh, come on, I got hit with an arrow because of him.”

“I got hit with three,” Derek said, eyes flashing red. “Do you see me bitching about it?”

Isaac showed his fangs for the briefest second before he turned and walked away, followed by his fellow Betas. Once they were gone, Derek crouched down in front of Stiles and regarded him with eyes that couldn’t seem to decide between brown and green.

“So, you’re here again. . . why?”

“Scott needs your help. He’s already killing animals in his sleep, and if he turns in the town, the Argents will do to him what they did to that Omega.”

“And why should I help someone who wanted to kill me a few weeks ago? What’s in it for me?”

“You’ll have a fourth Beta,” Stiles suggested, not sure what else to say. Derek had a point.

Derek shrugged. “I can make another Beta anytime, and I can pick someone more intelligent and less troublesome.”

“I can ask around town about anyone with scars. You couldn’t do that, not with the walls made of mountain ash.”

“Hmm. Better. What else?” Derek looked amused, and Stiles got the impression that he was waiting for a specific answer. What it was, he had no idea. So he shrugged and asked, “What else do you want?”

Derek’s mouth stretched into a white-toothed grin. Stiles had been right the other night: the smile stopped at his mouth, his eyes hard and a little angry. He slid his hands up Stiles’ legs and tugged him forward as much as the ropes would allow. That odd mix of lust and fear that Stiles had felt at the lake returned as Derek pushed his knees apart and slid between them. Stiles forced himself to look up at the werewolf’s face, and not at his chest. It was difficult, since it was level with his face.

“What if I wanted you?”

Stiles opened his mouth but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, managing to gasp out, “I thought you didn’t want anyone troublesome in your pack.”

“I don’t want you for the pack.”

“Oh.”

Derek’s mouth crashed down on Stiles’. He bit at his lower lip and slipped a hot tongue between his parted teeth. His hands slid along his shoulders, careful to avoid the place where Isaac had broken the skin, one of them moving up and gripping his hair. Stiles struggled against his bonds, no longer because he was trying to escape, but because he wanted to be able to get closer, to reach up and touch that perfect body.

Derek moved on to his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. The familiar sensation cut through the haze of lust; Peter’s face appeared, his blue eyes filled with hurt. Stiles, whose brain and cock had always been in nearly perfect agreement, felt conflicted about his body’s demands for the first time. He would certainly have been upset if Peter did to someone else what he did to Stiles.

“Um, I’m with someone.” He had to force the words out, not wanting the Alpha to stop what he was doing, but also feeling suddenly guilty.

Derek pulled away immediately and looked at him with an unreadable expression. “I’ve told you what I want,” he said after a while, shrugging. “How important is your brother to you?”

Stiles chewed on his lip, which felt swollen after Derek’s attentions. His cock was similarly swollen, straining against the front of his pants. He didn’t want to upset Peter, but he also really wanted to lick his way up that chiseled stomach. More importantly, Scott needed help; he had to do this for his brother, if nothing else. Scott and Allison, and whatever complicated future they might have. And, he rationalized, if he was going to be coerced into sex, it may as well be sex with Derek.

“Very important.”

 ~~

“This is a terrible idea,” Allison said when Stiles told her and Scott about his plan. “How did you even get the Alpha to agree to this?”

Stiles rubbed his shoulder, still sore, but no longer bleeding. The wound had felt deeper than it actually was, thankfully. “I made a deal. It’s the only idea we have.”

“What if we chained him up?”

“Um,” Scott began, but was ignored.

“Where are we going to get a chain strong enough? And what would we tie him to that he couldn’t destroy? And how would we explain the sounds?”

Allison face fell as she realized he was right.

“What exactly did you offer him?” Scott asked.

“I said I would keep an eye out for a man with a scarred face.”

“That’s it?”

Stiles didn’t give a confirmation. Lying was different from omitting a small part of the truth. “Apparently he’s a werewolf. And Derek really wants to find him, for some reason.”

“Derek?” Allison asked.

Stiles nodded. “The light-colored male is named Isaac. I didn’t get the others’ names.”

“I can’t believe I’m making deals with werewolves,” Allison said. “My mother would kill me if she knew.”

_No_ , Stiles thought. _She would do much, much worse_. The thought made him wonder what the punishment would be for _sleeping with_ a werewolf, and the images that came to mind made Stiles cringe.

 ~~

On the night of the full moon, they left at twilight. It was risky, crossing over to the forest when they were still so visible, but Allison had studied the patrols, and knew just when they needed to start running. She stayed behind, though not by choice. Scott had refused to go if she did, and Stiles didn’t think it was a good idea to bring her, not after she had shot the pack. And not after Derek’s reaction to her family’s name.

Derek himself seemed surprised when Scott and Stiles came stumbling through the woods once again, but he didn’t say anything, merely nodding and walking away, gesturing over his shoulder for them to follow. They were led to a cave, at the entrance of which the three Betas sat around a fire, talking. Their voices cut off abruptly when they saw the two boys.

“Meet Scott. Again,” Derek said. “Scott, meet Isaac, Boyd, and Erica.”

Scott walked over to meet his new pack, looking over his shoulder once at Stiles, who stayed where he was. He suddenly felt very alone, being the only human there. It was strange, thinking of his brother as something not human. Something that was part of a pack. Stiles sank to the ground, crossing his legs, and waited, although he wasn’t sure for what. Derek barely glanced at him and the werewolves ignored him as they chatted quietly, leaving him to watch the moon nervously as it rose. When it was almost at its peak, all five wolves rose together and disappeared into the cave.

Stiles was starting to doze off, face drooping against his palm, when the screaming started. He jerked up, listening wide-eyed to the unmistakable, shrill sound of Erica’s voice. Then the other two Betas added their own cries. And, finally, Scott’s voice, rising above the rest as he went through his first transformation. Stiles sat shivering as the human sounds transformed into animalistic howls, changing along with their bodies.

Then Derek was standing at the entrance to the cave, summoning Stiles with one finger. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the Betas, but what choice did he have? If he went back on their deal, Derek might decide to let Scott run free and wreak havoc until an Argent arrow put an end to him. He approached slowly, alert for the appearance of any slavering wolves. Derek waited, arms crossed, making his muscles bulge more than they already did. He didn’t look like he was about to turn into a bloodthirsty animal, but there was a tension about him that hadn’t been there before.

He pulled Stiles against him the second he was within reach, forcing his mouth open with his own. He was more forceful — more desperate, somehow — than before, hands sliding down Stiles’ back to grab his ass. Stiles couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, rubbing his crotch against Derek’s as strong fingers kneaded against him. He was getting hard, and Derek was far ahead of him, by the feel of it. He bucked into the human, making both of them gasp into each other’s mouths. Stiles raked his nails down Derek’s clothed back, and found himself suddenly pressed against the cave side, uneven rock digging into his shoulders and spine.

It brought enough clarity for him to say, “Not against the wall.” His voice was more pleading than he would have liked, and he wasn’t really expecting Derek to listen. He would just have to bear through it. Focus on the pleasure instead of the discomfort. Stiles was speechless when the werewolf paused to drag him farther into the cave.

The growls were louder there, and the light from the campfire dimmer, but Stiles didn’t have long to think about it before he was being lowered onto something soft — bedding, it felt like. Derek pressed against him, and Stiles quickly forgot that he was possibly no more than a few feet away from hungry, moon-crazed wolves. The one grinding against him had all his attention.

Stiles wriggled around, trying to rub against the hot body as much as possible. Derek mouth moved from his lips to his shoulder, where he bit down, his teeth thankfully human. Then he was sitting up. Stiles almost cried out in protest, suddenly lacking the heat of the older man’s body, until he saw that he was yanking his shirt off. Stiles quickly did the same, and Derek wasted no time in attacking his nipples with tongue, teeth, and rough fingers.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed out.

Derek looked up, grinning in a way that made Stiles think of Peter. “That’s the plan.” Then he was upright again, standing to pull off his pants before dropping back down to so he could tug at Stiles’, who lifted his hips eagerly to make undressing him easier. Both their cocks were dripping readily, and slid together with ease as Derek pressed their hips back together.

They rubbed against one another for a few minutes, both breathing loudly and touching whatever part of the other that they could, kissing in between bouts of groping. Stiles would have been happy doing just that all night, but Derek must have grown bored. Without a word he began kissing his way down Stiles’ chest and belly. It took Stiles a moment to realize what he was doing.

His breath caught as Derek ran a warm tongue up his length, from base to tip, before taking all of him into his mouth. Any other time, Stiles would have hesitated before grabbing at the back of Derek’s head. But consequences ceased to exist as Derek bobbed his head up and down, tongue licking and teeth scraping gently. Stiles started to thrust himself upwards, trying to get deeper into the hot, slick hole, but Derek easily kept him from moving, pressing his hips down. Stiles didn’t mind; Peter had fucked his face plenty of times, but had declined to share the experience with Stiles. It was the first time he’d been inside somebody. Derek could have been doing a relatively horrible job, and Stiles wouldn’t have known the difference. Or cared, not with how caught up he was in the new sensations.

He came suddenly, before he could give Derek any warning. The werewolf swallowed without comment, sliding back up afterwards to stick his tongue back into Stiles’ mouth, letting the human taste himself. Stiles was so lost in post-orgasmic bliss that he was only distantly aware of being flipped onto his belly.

He let out a pathetic mewl as Derek spread him and rubbed a finger over his hole a few times before pushing in. It wasn’t enough, and Stiles let him know with a wiggle of his hips. Derek acquiesced, sliding in a second finger, and then a third when that failed to satisfy the human. He spent what Stiles considered an unnecessary amount of time pumping into him, stretching him and slicking his entrance with spit.

Then his cock brushed against the readily pulsing hole, and Stiles froze.

He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly scared. He was about to be fucked by a monster who could kill him with a flick of his wrist if he chose. What would taking in his cock be like? What damage could something so powerful do? He shivered and clenched his eyes shut as he waited to be entered.

He felt the werewolf pause before he placed a hand at the base of Stiles’ spine. He pushed down until the human was lying completely flat. Then he lowered himself down onto him, arms supporting some of his weight. He proceeded to thrust himself against Stiles’ ass, cock sliding along his hole without entering. The human blinked, not entirely sure what he was doing, but not complaining either. It was different, but not in a bad way, despite his half-hard cock being pressed between his stomach and the bedding. Stiles preferred it to the alternative.

As Derek started to move more quickly, pressing down harder with each thrust, his teeth latched on to Stiles’ uninjured shoulder. The boy winced as he bit down hard. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that it wasn’t entirely comfortable. He growled and pulled at the skin a little as he came across Stiles’ back.

He rolled off without a word and lay on his back, eyes closed. He seemed content, though not necessarily relaxed. The tension was still there, though not as apparent. Stiles hesitated a few moments before sitting up and using the edge of the bedding to clean himself off. He sat in awkward silence, watching the werewolf’s face, waiting for him to say something. After several minutes, he began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. He glanced around the cave, taking note of two other rolls of bedding and what looked like a pile of clothes.

When he glanced back at Derek, his eyes were open and watching him.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortably naked, Stiles reached for his shirt. Derek’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward. Stiles went from upright to on his back so fast he didn’t know how it happened, and found himself being stared down by a pair of glowing red eyes. Stiles wished he could disappear into the ground.

“I didn’t say you could get dressed,” Derek said quietly.

“Sorry,” Stiles squeaked. “I thought we were done.”

“Not until the sun comes up,” Derek said, pushing their hips firmly together.


	4. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Teen Wolf last night . . . mildly traumatizing, as usual.

Scott had a bewildered look on his face as he walked out with the rest of the Betas the next morning, like he was still processing the fact that he had spent the night as a snarling, yellow-eyed wolf. The three of them looked as tired as Stiles felt, having gotten no sleep, and they attacked the breakfast Derek had prepared like the hungry wolves they were.

Using an old pot, the Alpha had cooked up what may have been intended to be porridge, but had ended up as something that could only be described as mush. Stiles had declined the unappetizing substance in favor of waiting until he got home to quiet his grumbling stomach. Scott took one look at it and was wise enough to make the same decision, going to sit next to his brother.

“You look like you didn’t get any sleep,” he observed.

“I was in a cave full of hungry wolves,” Stiles pointed out, leaving out the fact that one of those wolves hadn’t been hungering for the same thing as the others. “What about you?”

“Well, I woke up just now, so I assume I slept.”

“Lucky you, then.”

“What about Derek?”

“Huh?” Stiles jerked up a little at the Alpha’s name. He glanced over at the huddled werewolves. “What about him?”

“He didn’t shift, did he?”

“Nope,” Stiles said. Other than the red eyes, Derek had stayed human, which he was glad of. He didn’t think last night would have been quite as enjoyable if Derek had sprouted claws and fangs. “Why?”

“I’m wondering why they did.”

“Because this is only their third full moon,” Derek answered, his werewolf hearing allowing him to hear Scott’s half-whispers. “They’ve only been able to shift at will for a month.”

That seemed to worry Scott, his eyebrows drawing together. “How long before I don’t have to turn on a full moon?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Not much of an Alpha then, are you?” Stiles muttered. Derek heard him. He must have, with his hearing, but he didn’t acknowledge the comment. Without a word, he stood and disappeared into the dark of the cave.

“It’s not his fault,” Erica said, glaring at the human. “He’s as new to being an Alpha as we are to being werewolves.”

“And he can’t ask another werewolf?”

Erica shook her head, making her blonde waves ripple. “He was alone before he turned us.”

“He didn’t have another pack?”

“He did, but — ”

“But something happened to them,” Isaac interrupted. “And we don’t talk about it.”

 ~~

“I don’t like him,” Stiles said as they made their way through the forest, finding it a much easier task in daylight.

“Derek?”

“No, Isaac.”

In all honesty, Stiles wasn’t sure what to think of the red-eyed Alpha. He was attractive —God, he was attractive! — but whatever was hidden behind that perfect physique and those unhappy eyes remained a mystery. As did his motives behind everything from seeking out the scarred werewolf, to his wanting Stiles as payment for helping Scott. That last one especially had Stiles thinking. Weren’t there more useful things he could have asked for? It couldn’t be that he was desperate for sex, not with three attractive Betas and his body.

“Why don’t you like Isaac?” Scott looked genuinely confused. “He’s nice. He even gave you one of his scarves.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles grumbled, tugging at the green fabric wrapped around his neck, which Isaac had relinquished only after much grumbling and a pointed stare from Derek. “Maybe because he _stabbed_ me?”

“What happened to your neck, by the way?”

Stiles congratulated himself silently when he managed to keep his face expressionless, giving nothing away. Anyone else wouldn’t have had to ask, but Scott was Scott, and if it weren’t for Allison, Stiles could have come up with a less embarrassing excuse than: “Peter likes my neck.”

“Well, it _is_ a very nice neck,” Scott said, grinning impishly. “Like the pale neck of beautiful maiden, awaiting her prince — ” He ducked, laughing, as Stiles took a swipe at the back of his head. Then, seeing Stiles’ face, he took off through the forest, voice still ringing with humor as his brother followed after him in clumsy pursuit, unable to match his newfound lupine grace. Or his speed.

It took seconds for Scott to dash out of sight, weaving his way through the trees with ease. Stiles ran for as long as he could, until his throat and lungs ached, and he had to stop to catch his breath. He looked around the quiet forest, bent over with hands resting on his knees. His brother had disappeared.

Then a weight landed on his back, knocking him over. Stiles turned over so he was sitting on the forest floor and could glare up at the easily amused werewolf. After taking several seconds to chuckle at the look on Stiles’ face, he reached a hand forward and helped him up.

“You’re a were _wolf_ ,” he reminded him irritably. “Not a squirrel.”

“Hey, if I have claws and I can climb, why not?”

Stiles glanced down at Scott’s fingers, heart thumping slightly at the sight of the curved claws now adorning the tips. They looked deadly, and contrasted oddly with the childish joy on Scott’s face.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to control that yet.”

“I can’t.” Even as he said it, the claws were disappearing. “They came out while I was running, so I decided to put them to good use.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well, I see you’re enjoying being a supernatural creature.”

Scott shrugged in reply, still smiling as they continued on their way.

 ~~

Allison and the boys had bet on Scott’s improved eyesight to enable them to sneak back into town in daylight. Though it took much blinking and many failed attempts at concentration, as well as a slap from Stiles when nothing happened for several minutes, Scott’s eyes eventually flashed yellow.

He snarled at Stiles, head whipping around, and for a few terrifying seconds it seemed like he might attack. But then he fixed his gaze on the distant town wall, and Stiles let out a relieved breath when, after a minute or two, his brother gave a nod. They took off across the barren ground, Stiles once again falling far behind. Scott was waiting on the other side of the gap, watching for people with brown, human eyes.

From there, they made their way to the center of town, to the largest house: the Argent house with its many rooms, fenced-in yard, and the line of small apple trees that grew in front and along the sides. Sneaking to the side of the house, Scott threw stones at a window with pretty blue shutters until Allison’s smiling face popped out and she waved the boys inside. They quickly scaled the apple tree directly beneath, and entered her spacious room — bigger than Peter’s whole house —as quietly as possible.

Stiles became very interested in some of Allison’s watercolor paintings while faces and bodies were mashed together and sweet words and quiet declarations of love were exchanged. He made a note to pull Peter into a kiss, next time either Scott or Allison was around, to give them a sense of how awkward it was.

“How did it go?” Allison asked, _finally_ pulling away. “Did it hurt?”

“I think so?” Scott said. “I don’t remember much.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” Stiles looked up to see two sets of brown eyes watching him. “Um, no, nothing hurt.” That wasn’t entirely true. The grinding had gotten a little uncomfortable after the first few hours, and his shoulder was a little sore from too much biting. Other than that, though, he couldn’t really complain.

“I think she meant how was your night.”

“Oh.” Stiles rubbed the back of his head. “Um, mildly terrifying. And exhausting. Um, you know, uneventful.”

Allison looked slightly suspicious, but she didn’t say anything. Not about that. Stiles kind of wished she had, instead of: “My mom wants to put wolf’s bane in the water supply.”

“That’s bad,” Scott said, stating the obvious. “Why?”

“She thinks there’s a werewolf in the town.”

“Smart woman,” Stiles said. _Smart, terrifying woman_. “How does she think it got — Waitwaitwait. _Wait_. How did _you_ get in?” He pointed at his brother, mind spinning as the impossibility of Scott being in that room dawned on him. The impossibility of Scott being anywhere inside the town. He hadn’t thought about it until now, not when the idea of his brother being a werewolf was still so foreign.

Allison’s eyes widened. “You’re right! Scott, how did you get past the mountain ash?”

Scott’s eyes were huge. “I just walked in.”

“The mountain ash should have stopped you.”

“Unless something happened to the circle,” Stiles said quietly.

More important than the town wall itself was the circle. No werewolf could touch the towering wall. It was the first line of defense against the supernatural, but it could be damaged and worn away by time. So the town’s founders had buried powered mountain ash deep down along its base, supposedly enchanting it with the help of a druid so that it would never shift out of place. Even if the wall itself were completely destroyed, the circle would keep the town safe.

“I have to tell my parents,” Allison said, looking scared. Stiles didn’t blame her; if the circle was broken, the town was vulnerable. The wall wasn’t exactly in good condition, the break he and Scott used to get in and out not being the only such damage. But if she told her parents . . .

“You can’t,” he said.

“I _have_ to.”

“And what will you say when they ask how you know?” Stiles hissed angrily. He nodded at his brother. “How will Scott get in and out if they fix the circle?”

“What am I supposed to do, Stiles?” she asked, brows drawing together in frustration. She blinked a few times, before saying, “There’s a pack of werewolves outside. What happens when they figure out that they can get inside? If they haven’t already.”

She was right. There was no way Derek didn’t know, not after today. _The bastard used us_ , it occurred to Stiles. Why else hadn’t he pointed out how problematic it would have been for Scott to return home? He had used them to see if the werewolf he was searching for could get inside, despite what Stiles had told him.

It wouldn’t be difficult for the Alpha and his pack to approach the wall during the night, when the patrols wouldn’t be able to see properly. The thought of the patrols made Stiles laugh; what use were they, really, beyond reassuring the townspeople? They might deter a passing wolf from approaching during the day, but at night? If Derek wanted in, he could easily get in without anyone knowing until it was too late.

But Scott . . .

“Let’s just wait until Scott learns to control himself,” he begged. “Please, Allison. I’ll patrol the wall myself every night if you want, and I’ll talk to Derek on the next full moon.”

“He could decide to slip in long before the next full moon.”

“So what? He’s not after us; he’s after a werewolf. Please, just let me talk to him first.”

“Why would he listen to you?” Allison asked unsteadily.

“He already made a deal with me once,” Stiles pointed out. Remembering what Isaac and Erica had said about his old pack he added, “And I don’t think he would risk his pack without knowing for sure whether or not the person he’s looking for is here.” It wasn’t much on argument, not really, not when they knew so little about the black wolf. But Stiles did know Allison, and she cared as much about Scott as he did. She wouldn’t risk his life.

Even as she nodded her agreement, however, a part of Stiles wished she had refused. He wished neither of them cared so much about his brother that they were willing to risk lives, because if he was wrong about Derek, people were undoubtedly going to die.

 ~~

Stiles went to Peter’s house again that night, slipping out through his bedroom window and sneaking down the street. When he got to the haphazard little house, squashed between two equally crumbling residences, he knocked on the door as loudly as he dared. There was nothing to indicate Peter was home. When, several knocks later, there was still no answer, Stiles considered going home. Then decided that, no, he was going to wait. Peter had to come home sometime, and he owed Stiles some answers.

He sat himself down so he was leaning against the door before drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. It was a little chilly and Stiles shivered, snuggling farther against himself. He would yell at Peter a little, he decided, when the man finally showed himself.

Stiles didn’t know how long he waited. He fell asleep at some point, and dreamed that Derek and his pack had snuck into the town and were killing people. There were bloody, mauled bodies lying everywhere, and the Alpha was killing his dad and Melissa. And then Isaac, eyes glowing, was leaping at him with fangs bared. A clawed hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. He expected the Beta to kill him then, but he just kept shaking him, and telling him to wake up.

Wait.

Stiles opened his eyes to find Peter standing in front of him, right arm reached down so he could shake him. When he saw that the boy was awake, he straightened and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Where have you been?” Stiles snapped, stress and the nightmare fueling his anger as he shoved Peter with one hand. He barely managed to make him sway. “It’s the middle of the night. Why aren’t you home?”

“Why aren’t you?” Peter countered, easily moving Stiles aside as he went for the door. But Stiles slipped under his arm, and stayed where he was, glaring. “I’m not in the mood right now,” he said. “Go take care of yourself.”

“You think I want to have sex with you right now, asshole? I want to know where you’ve been.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Out for a walk.”

“And the last two times I was here?”

“Out. For. A. Walk.” The words were almost a growl. “Move. I want to go to bed.”

“No.”

Stiles wasn’t surprised when Peter tried to kiss him. It was the way he always ended their disagreements; Stiles jerked away, not willing to give in so easily this time. Peter grabbed his lower jaw and tried again, only to have a hand shove his head away. Meeting Stiles’ glare with one of his own, he caught the boy’s wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. The other went back to holding his head still so he could press their lips together. Stiles kept his stubbornly together, refusing let go of his anger. He lasted longer than he had thought he would, before kissing back hesitantly. He felt Peter’s smile when he won, like he always did.

Stiles started to relax, a small part him still angry, but growing smaller by the second. He had wanted to stay mad at Peter, but he had also wanted to not have to think about werewolves for a little bit. _Tonight isn’t a total failure_ , he thought as Peter broke the kiss so he could go after Stiles’ neck. He didn’t start biting like usual, though, instead inhaling once and chuckling.

“Someone’s been busy,” he said.

“What?”

He spun Stiles around without elaborating, making the door creak faintly as he pressed their weight against it. “I guess I have two minutes.” His finger brushed Stiles’ side, travelling down to tug at his pants.

“We’re outside,” Stiles hissed, struggling as much as he could, which wasn’t much, not with how strong Peter was. When Peter kept tugging, exposing more of Stiles’ skin to the air, he tried to kick him, missing. “Stop it!”

“When did you become so modest?”

Peter released him then and unlocked the door as Stiles pulled his pants back up, anger quickly returning. When he didn’t follow him inside right away, Peter started closing the door, stopping half way to ask, “Are you coming? Or did you really want me to stop?”

Stiles considered leaving. A part of him wanted to, just to prove to Peter’s smug smirk that he could, but a bigger part still wanted to spend some time with someone not involved in all the craziness. He followed Peter inside with some reluctance, and soon found himself being backed towards the bed while Peter kissed away any protests before they made it past his lips, pulling their shirts off.

Once the rest of their clothes were discarded, Peter pushed Stiles face down on the mattress and stretched him out quickly, even by his standards. Stiles wasn’t entirely ready when he pushed in, and grunted uncomfortably at the first few thrusts. Even once he had adjusted, he couldn’t enjoy it properly, not with Peter fucking him so mechanically. A few minutes later, when Peter had finished and pulled out, Stiles’ mood had been far from improved.

It got worse when Peter flopped down on the bed, and pulled the blanket up to his chin without another word. Stiles stared at his back, not sure how to react. He had seen Peter act coldly towards others, but he had never experienced it himself.

“So, we’re not going to talk?” he said quietly, already guessing the answer.

“No, we’re going to sleep,” Peter snapped, turning his head briefly to shoot a glare from one of his blue eyes. “And if you can’t shut up, then go find another bed.” And with that he turned back over.

Stiles didn’t move for a few seconds, frozen, hoping that Peter would turn over and apologize. Then there would be some yelling and some pacifying kisses, and by the time they fell asleep, everything would be better.

It quickly became clear, however, that it wasn’t going to happen. Peter didn’t move, and Stiles eventually pulled his clothes back on and slipped out the door.


	5. Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my laptop has, unfortunately, had a catastrophic failure. I haven't lost any of my files thankfully, but I now have to use public computers. Yay. This means I won't be able to post every day like I had intended, but, fear not, I will continue posting. Enjoy chapter 5!

It would have been a much better day, Stiles decided, if he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. In fact, if he hadn’t opened his eyes at all. He would have been perfectly content to stay curled up under his blanket, hiding from the sun and people and life in general. But, of course, it was not meant to be, and he found his peaceful bubble of darkness being invaded by a crooked jaw and wide eyes.

“Is he okay?”

Stiles made a displeased sound as he draped his forearm over his face. He didn’t like the light, or the pretty voice, or the way his sleeve was being pulled on. He jerked away and shifted so his face was buried in the mattress before reaching up and grabbing down the blanket. He couldn’t breathe very well, but there were more important things than breathing at that moment. Silence and an escape from the world, to begin with.

He mumbled unhappily as the blanket was drawn away from him, exposing his bare feet. He curled in on himself as much as humanly possible, but it seemed that getting him out of bed had become a priority. The blanket was peeled off inch by inch, until all that was left was the small section he still had clutched in a chokehold. Then, with supernatural strength, even that was taken from him. He pressed his face farther into the mattress; they could take his blanket, but they couldn’t take away the darkness.

Hands gripped his ankles, and Stiles let out an inhuman screech as he was dragged from the bed, his fingers clawing at the mattress up until he was dumped on the cold floor. From there, all he could do was press his forehead to the edge of the bed and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Stiles, come on,” Scott said. “Get up.”

“Go away,” Stiles mumbled. “I’m having a bad day.”

“You’ve already had two bad days.” Something poked him in the side. “Come on. The parents are getting worried.”

“Tell the parents I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For all my problems to go away.”

“Stiles.” Allison now, her voice pretty and gentle. “I know you’re upset about Peter, but you can’t spend the rest of your life in bed.”

“It’s not about _Peter_.” Stiles spat out his name, the mere sound of it making him nauseous. “I don’t give a damn about _Peter_. _Peter_ can go die in a hole and be eaten by worms. I don’t care.”

“Scott needs your help.”

“ _Arrrggh!_ ”

And so, an hour later he found himself standing at the entrance to an alley with a pile of small rocks in front of him, and Scott waiting at the other end. Allison was at a family meeting, and the task of training her beloved had fallen on him.

“Isn’t this what we went to Derek for?” Stiles asked, bouncing one of the stones in his right hand.

“I almost attacked Danny last night,” Scott said, referring to the new friend he had made while on patrol. “I can’t wait for Derek. I need to learn to control this _now_.”

“By having rocks thrown at you?”

“Come on,” Scott urged, tensing his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut. “Pretend I’m Peter.”

Stiles raised a brow, wondering if Scott really knew what he was asking for. Then he shrugged, and drew his arm back. He thought of blue eyes and the smirk belonging to them. He thought about being pinned to the door and then being told to leave like he was just some annoying brat. The rock flashed through the air, hitting Scott in the shoulder. Scott let out a yelp, but stayed in place, waiting. Stiles grabbed two more rocks and loosed them at his brother, hitting him once in the leg and again in the shoulder. Scott started to hunch over as another few found their mark.

“What the hell did he do to you?” Scott asked, flinching as a rock whistled past his ear, going higher than had been intended. Stiles didn’t answer. He was getting into a rhythm: pull up some happy memory with Peter as he grabbed a rock and prepared to throw, and then replace it with some part of the other night just before releasing the small projectile. It didn’t matter what. Remembering his wrists being restrained did just as much as thinking of the quick, indifferent fuck.

His throws were gradually growing in strength the more he got into it. He tried to aim for shoulders and legs, but one particularly enraged throw sent an especially large rock flying into Scott’s belly. Scott hunched over with a shout. Stiles stopped, anger dissipating in an instant when his brother stayed in that position, holding himself around the middle.

“Oh, shit.” Stiles ran to Scott, afraid that he had seriously hurt him. “Are you — ” He froze, words dying in his throat as twin yellow eyes glared up at him. Stiles backed up a step, hands going up in surrender as the werewolf rose, claws and fangs coming out as his face transformed just like the Betas’ when they had threatened Stiles.

“Sorry, brother. Calm d — _shit!_ ”

Stiles found himself pinned up against the wall before he could even consider that running might be a wise decision. He wheezed as a forearm pressed on his throat — what did werewolves have against breathing?

“Scott . . . stop,” he managed in a rasping whisper. And what, he wondered, was it with people shoving him into things lately? What was it about him that screamed, “Please, cause me bodily harm”? Enough was enough. Stiles reached up and pulled on one pointy ear as hard as he could, digging in his nails to maximize the results.

Scott yipped.

Any other time, hearing that sound uttered by such a terrifying face would have had Stiles laughing until it hurt. The retaliating glare was far from humorous, however, and Stiles had an instant to regret the decision before a fist punched into the wall right beside his head. Bits of stone exploded outwards; Stiles cringed, certain he was about to be mauled.

“What happened?”

Scott sounded shocked and, more importantly, human. His face was back to normal when Stiles opened his eyes, and he was looking from his hand to the newly-made crater. Stiles let out a breath and patted him on the shoulder.

“Let’s wait until the next full moon, brother.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed in a small voice.

 ~~

The rest of the month did little to reassure Stiles, despite starting deceptively well when Allison informed them that she had talked her family out of putting wolf’s bane into the town’s water. It was good news for Scott, but what followed was a disaster, in Stiles’ opinion.

“What do you mean ‘dinner’?” Stiles asked, mind whirling with the horrible possibilities of his werewolf brother dining with Allison’s family.

“My grandfather wanted to meet Scott. My parents hated the idea, but he talked them into it.”

“ _Why?_!”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think . . .?”

“There’s no way.”

“What?” Scott asked, looking mostly terrified by the idea of sitting down for a meal with three people who could and would end him the instant they learned what he was. There was also an inexplicable glint of hope that Stiles found concerning.

Stiles turned to his brother. “Have you ever had a wolfy moment around any of the Argents? Have you ever even started to get angry when one of them was nearby?”

“Of course not!”

“Are you sure?” Allison asked. “Even the smallest thing could have made them suspicious. Especially now, when they think there’s an actual werewolf to watch for.”

“If they thought I was a werewolf, do you really think they would invite me to dinner?”

“It could be a trap,” Allison pointed out, reaching over to brush her fingers against his.

Scott gently picked up her hand. “Wouldn’t you have heard about it?”

“They don’t always tell me everything.”

“I think they would; they wouldn’t want to put you in danger.”

Stiles couldn't agree, not when he remembered Allison’s initiation, where she had been left on her own to face the ravenous Omega with nothing but a tiny dagger. But he stayed silent, not only because Allison wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion that her parents didn’t care for her safety, but because her fingers had twined with Scott’s and both of them had that look that told Stiles it was time for him to leave, unless he wanted things to get awkward.

 ~~

A week later, Stiles’ and Allison’s concern turned out to be needless after the dinner went smoothly. It hadn’t been perfect, not with Victoria Argent glaring and Chris Argent giving a brief lesson on the efficient killing of werewolves, but Allison’s grandfather had helped lighten the mood when it started to grow too grim.

Stiles questioned just how smoothly it had really gone, in that case, but he didn’t bother the young couple with his pessimism. Not when they were practically glowing with the renewed hope that their relationship wasn’t going to end in catastrophic failure.

It was Peter’s fault, he decided. His fault that Stiles found himself glowering cynically at every couple he saw, even Melissa and his dad, and wondering how long they were going to last. Everything was his fault. When Stiles went to tend his pumpkins one morning and found a third of them gone or broken, he cursed Peter silently for being a bad influence to young children. He dreaded bumping into the man. He avoided the places Peter frequented, and glanced around cautiously the rest of the time. Stiles knew there was no reason for him to be skulking around like a criminal ― Peter was the asshole, not him ―but his irrational side had taken over. By the end of the month, it had taken over so completely that he was looking forward to leaving the town.

_I need time to relax_ , he told himself as he and Scott made their way through the forest. _I’m looking forward to relaxing, not to being ravished by a brawny werewolf_ _with gorgeous eyes until I can’t even picture Peter’s stupid face._

Whatever he told himself, his body had other ideas, and the second the four Betas were settled, he was pressing himself against a very surprised ― though not at all displeased, judging by the way he groped back ― werewolf. Derek didn’t complain when Stiles pulled at his hair and he readily opened his mouth when Stiles’ tongue brushed his lips. He preferred to be in control, however, and one too-hard bite was all it took for him to grab the human and push him down to the ground.

“You’re eager,” he noted when Stiles started to strip off his shirt.

“I’m having relationship problems,” Stiles answered as he began to struggle out of his pants.

Derek raised one of his impressive eyebrows. “Are you using me to numb your emotional pain?”

“Yep. It’s only fair; you used me and Scott to see if a werewolf could get into the town.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched. He undressed quickly and dropped down so he could pull at Stiles’ bottom lip with his teeth; while Stiles was distracted with that, he reached down between them and grabbed the human’s cock. Stiles gasped and raised his hips into the werewolf’s touch. Derek’s teeth moved down to their preferred place, his shoulder, and bit down.

Unlike before, Stiles found himself growing impatient, despite the extra attention he was getting from Derek’s hand. When he felt Derek’s length brush against his stomach, he said without thinking, “Just fuck me, would you?”

They both went still then, and Stiles felt a nervous flutter in his stomach as Derek sat up and looked at him with a concerningly blank face. Neither of them said anything for a time, and Stiles was pondering his own words when Derek said, “I won’t stop.”

“Hmm?”

“I won’t stop if you change your mind, so be sure of what you’re asking for.”

Stiles considered that and then considered Derek’s cock. It gave an expectant twitch when his eyes fell on it; it looked surprisingly normal, not like something that could cause irreparable damage. Still . . .

“It’s not going to do anything weird, is it?” Stiles asked, and immediately wished he had phrased that differently.

“Excuse me?”

Derek was glaring and Stiles cringed a little.

“Well, I mean, you’re a werewolf, and I’m kind of concerned about . . . you know, excruciating pain and permanent damage.”

“Did it do anything weird last time?” Derek asked, eyebrows maintaining their position of righteous indignation.

Stiles shook his head. “Well, last time you didn't actually . . . It’s just . . . you’re kind of really strong, so . . . I want to be able to walk home tomorrow morning.”

Derek made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t turn into a wolf halfway through.” Then he grabbed Stiles’ arm and yanked him up so they were right next to each other, their faces inches apart as he said, “But if you let me, I’m going to fuck you better than any human ever could.”

Stiles couldn’t imagine anyone better than Peter. But he had only ever had sex with Peter, so what did he really know, when he had no other experiences to use for comparison? And if Derek really could do better, which didn’t seem unlikely, it would give Stiles something to gloat over. Every time he saw Peter, he could think of Derek.

“Um, show me what you can do?”

Stiles had been trying for a sultry statement, not the uncertain whisper he managed, but Derek flipped him onto his stomach with a growl, so he couldn’t complain about the results. He felt the werewolf’s length press against his ass and he bit his lip, reluctant to interrupt. His own cock was far from happy, however, pressed against the ground the way it was.

“Uncomfortable,” he gasped out, even as he pushed back. Derek barely paused; he kept up the grinding as he lifted himself, and Stiles after him, until the boy was on hands and knees. The position was better, but also problematic, and with great reluctance, Stiles said, “Um, I’m probably going to fall over halfway through — ”

Derek grabbed him around the middle with one arm, and squeezed just hard enough to make it clear how strong he was. “You’re not going to fall,” Derek said. He let go and pulled away; Stiles let out an excited breath when the grinding stopped because he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Derek continued what he had begun a month ago, stretching Stiles out and slicking him with spit until he almost couldn’t stand the anticipation.

His cock brushed Stiles’ readied entrance, and he stopped, waiting. Stiles knew Derek was giving him a final chance to change his mind, but he had no intention of doing so. He pushed back, giving silent permission, and then the werewolf was sliding into him inch by inch, filling him completely. Stiles sighed happily at the familiar feeling, improved by the fact that Derek was a little thicker than Peter. He was enjoying the extra stretch, and let out a little whine as Derek started to pull back out, slowly, until only the head of his cock was left.

He did so a few more times, fucking the human in slow motion. Stiles wondered if he intended to keep going at that pace. It was good, but — Derek thrust in all the way suddenly, rocking the human forward and making him cry out. He paused, probably to make sure he hadn’t been too rough, but whatever mindless thing Stiles managed to say urged him on. The next thrust was harder, and so was the one after that; Stiles’ moans echoed in the cave as Derek pounded into him with increasingly more speed.

It was as good as anything Peter had ever done to him; better, even, after nearly a month of unwanted celibacy. Stiles’ cock ached as his release drew closer, but he didn’t dare reach for it, not with his arms shaking the way they were. He had to content himself with rocking back against Derek, trying to increase the pleasure as much as possible.

Derek must have sensed how close he was. He grabbed the human’s hips and tilted them on the next thrust. For some reason that Stiles’ pleasure-addled mind couldn’t even think to try comprehending, he growled and changed the angle again. His cock hit _something_ and Stiles came with a surprised shout as his whole body shook with pleasure. Derek caught him as he started to fall, holding him against his hot chest, letting Stiles shiver his way through the aftershocks of whatever had just happened.

“I thought nothing weird was going to happen,” he muttered as his cock gave a final, satisfied twitch. “Not that I’m complaining. Whatever that was, it was incredible.”

“’Whatever that was’?” Derek repeated, like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

But the werewolf just laughed incredulously and moved himself _just right_ again, hitting whatever it was that still had Stiles floating in the afterglow. Pleasure shot through the human’s body, and his cock hardened instantly, more than ready for round two.

“Whoever you’re with,” Derek grunted, his breath hot against Stiles’ ear, “is never going to satisfy you again after this.”

Something about that made Stiles moan louder, and his head fell back as every thrust sent new waves of pleasure vibrating through him. He came again, faster than he had thought possible; Derek licked at his bared throat once before clamping his teeth down. The werewolf could have killed him then and Stiles would have been unable to stop him. He couldn’t even bring himself to care as his third orgasm surged through him. Derek finished shortly thereafter, biting down as he did so, just hard enough that it began to hurt.

At some point after that, they found their way to the rolled out bedding. When Stiles finally managed to regain some awareness, he found himself on his back with Derek fitted perfectly between his legs. The cave was much quieter now, the only sounds being contented sighs and their mouths moving against one another.

It was during one of their occasional pauses for breath that Stiles said, “So, you have a magic werewolf cock.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m not judging. It was great.”

With a sigh, Derek worked his hand down between their bodies until he found Stiles’ hole and pushed two fingers inside. Stiles sighed at the feeling, then gasped, his whole body jerking, as Derek curled his fingers and caused the same delicious burst of pleasure his cock had. He pulled out after, much to Stiles’ disappointment and looked down at him with half-closed eyes.

“Clearly your partner isn’t very good,” he said, lips sliding softly just under Stiles’ left ear.

“Oh, he’s good,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to giggle as the werewolf’s breath tickled his skin. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had just defended Peter. Habit, he supposed, and one he would have to break. “Just in a different way.”

“And which way is better?”

Stiles ran his fingers along Derek’s back, feeling the muscles shift. “You, at the moment,” he answered honestly. “But that might be because I’m not pissed at you.”

Derek shifted so their lengths — both hard again and waiting — slid against one another. “I would be better either way.”

Stiles was inclined to agree. “So . . . when are you going to teach Scott how to control the shift?”

Derek’s frown returned. “You want to talk about your brother? Right _now_?” He pushed their hips together for emphasis.

“No,” Stiles gasped. “Just wondering. It’s kind of important.”

“Tomorrow, before you leave, I’ll give him some tips.”

Before Stiles could say another word, Derek shifted in a way that insured only a gasp came out of his mouth.

 ~~

“An anchor?”

Scott looked confused and concerned, sitting beside the breakfasting werewolves. Like his brother, he had once again opted out of consuming the questionable substance the Alpha had concocted. Stiles sat off to the side, far enough away that his presence wouldn't offend Isaac. Time had only increased the Beta's dislike for the human, and the fact that Stiles had forgotten to return his scarf did nothing to alleviate the tension between them.

“It can be anything,” Derek explained, grimacing as he tasted his own cooking. “Anything that reminds you of your human side.”

“I don’t know what that would be,” Scott said. He looked at Isaac. “What’s yours?”

“None of your business,” the Beta snapped, then a little more gently, “It’s personal.”

Scott remained silent after, but looked far from satisfied, so Stiles intervened. “We’ll figure it out, brother. How does he control the shift?” he asked, looking at Derek.

The Alpha met his eyes, making Stiles shiver with thoughts of the night before. “Give me your hand.” Scott did, and Derek grabbed it just above the wrist before flicking it down. Scott’s claws came out, curved and deadly.

“That was easy,” Scott said, but when he tried to do the same on his own, nothing happened. His other hand remained clawless, and the Betas chuckled as he made a few more fruitless attempts.

“Keep trying,” Derek said.

“What about turning into a wolf?”

“Figure out your anchor, and how to use it. Then we’ll talk about a full shift.”

Derek glanced over the heads of his Betas and met Stiles’ eyes again. The human found himself wishing for a rabbit. A fat, juicy rabbit that would run by and have the younger wolves chasing after it for a few hours, while he and the Alpha continued where they had left off. Because waiting a month for the next full moon suddenly seemed like far too long a time.


	6. Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last episode of Teen Wolf was terrible! Not the episode itself, but what happened at the end :( It's still making me sad, and tumblr isn't helping *sigh* 
> 
> (I would suggest not reading the note at the end if you're not caught up on Teen Wolf.)
> 
> Also, enjoy the chapter, and thank you to everyone who's reading and commenting!

By the time they had made it back to the town that morning, Scott had become determined to discover his anchor. When they met with Allison later that day, he wasted no time in filling her in, and the two of them were soon perfectly united in the goal. The sooner Scott learned to control the shift, the sooner they could get on with their plans for a relatively normal, married life, and the sooner the Argents could be informed of the break in the circle.

Despite her excitement, Allison didn’t forget about Derek. When asked if the Alpha had agreed to stay out of the town, Stiles, who had forgotten to make that particular inquiry, simply said, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

It wasn’t a lie. He believed it, and a month later the Alpha confirmed it, followed by a growl of, “Keep going”, and a firm tug on the boy’s hair. Stiles smiled as he let the werewolf’s length slide back into his mouth, all the way in until it hit his throat. He took a moment to adjust before beginning to move, sucking and licking until Derek reached his peak, and then simply opening up as much as he could to accommodate the werewolf as he gave a few wild thrusts before releasing down the human’s throat.

“Why do you always ask questions at the worst possible time?” Derek asked afterwards, his arms wrapped loosely around Stiles, who was half on top of him, arms resting on his chest and one finger tracing its way along his collarbone. He grinned at the wolf, shrugging, “At least I didn’t ask about Scott this time.”

Derek grunted, then raised the leg lying between Stiles’. It was his turn to grin as Stiles hardened against his hip. “You have amazing stamina for a human, you know that?”

They had just begun to grind against one another, their gasps echoing through the cave, when an unexpected voice interrupted them, “Could you guys do that somewhere else?”

They both froze, turning to stare as the curly-haired werewolf walked into view, pulling a shirt on as he approached. Stiles would have run and hid, if not for Derek’s immovable arms and the lack of anywhere to actually hide. So instead he buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, and tried not to think about how his rear was on display for the unhappy Beta.

“You did it,” was all Derek said, and he sounded pleased.

“So did I!”

Stiles let out a groan of despair at the sound of Erica’s voice; he wanted to disappear when she said, “So, _that’s_ why you two smell like one another.” He wiggled experimentally, but the Alpha didn’t seem to have any intention of releasing him. He resigned himself to never being able to look either Isaac or Erica in the face again.

“Boyd?” Derek asked.

Erica sounded disappointed. “Not yet.”

But then the tall Beta’s voice came from the back of the cave, “Yes, I did! Can someone help me out of these?”

“Coming!”

Erica’s footsteps echoed as she ran to help him, but Stiles didn’t dare look up. He was certain Isaac was still there, glowering, and sure enough: “Why him?”

“Isaac . . .”

There was a warning in Derek’s voice, but the Beta ignored it. “Fucking a human was what got your first pack killed ― ”

“ _Isaac_!”

Stiles jumped as Derek’s arms tightened around him; he looked up to find the werewolf red-eyed and fanged, a growl rumbling through him as he glared at his Beta. Isaac, when Stiles turned, was also growling, the tips of his fangs visible through parted lips. Stiles’ heart pounded as he waited, caught between the two angry predators.

“ _Leave_!”

Isaac did, though not without a final, defiant snarl. The Alpha watched him go, fangs receding, until he was out of sight, and for a few seconds after. Then he sat up, easily taking Stiles with him, his eyes still burning as he wordlessly handed him his clothes. Stiles dressed in silence, watching the werewolf, a question he didn’t dare ask at that moment on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t be scared,” Derek said once Stiles was fully clothed, and before he could be asked to explain, he started to shift.

Stiles watched with wide eyes as dark fur sprouted all over the man’s body. His hands were already paws as he dropped down onto all fours, and the shifting of his bones and internal organs was sickeningly audible. His face lengthened into a muzzle; he shook himself as his tail appeared, twitched his ears. The wolf was massive, his shoulders level with Stiles’ waist, and when he stepped up to the boy, his neck was just long enough for the tip of his tongue to be able to flick against his chin.

Stiles wiped the spit off with a grimace; he had never liked being licked by dogs. The wolf inclined his head, then raised himself off the ground and planted his paws on the boy’s shoulders. He towered over him, and regarded him with something mischievous in his red eyes.

“Don’t you ― ” Stiles began, but a large wet tongue interrupted him, forcefully bathing his face in slobber. The paws held him in place until not even his hair had escaped the slimy treatment. When Derek finally released him, Stiles was dripping; he glared at the wolf, now sitting with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“Fine then,” Stiles said with narrowed eyes, grabbing the Alpha’s discarded shirt off the ground and using it to wipe off the saliva. Derek’s eyes seemed to narrow as well, but he didn’t retaliate. Stiles watched him stand and pad over to the cave entrance. The light from the campfire highlighted his black fur a red gold as he looked over his shoulder at the human, jerking his head once in a very human gesture.

Stiles went after him, following him into the forest. He was hard to see, blending in with the darkness even after Stiles’ eyes had adjusted to the white moonlight. He was little more than a shifting shadow to the human’s weak eyes; it was like following a ghost. Stiles shivered at the thought, and took a second to ponder the fact that he was following a werewolf through a dark forest. And not as a midnight snack. A few months ago, the idea would have seemed absurd.

Derek led him to the lake, and then along the bank until the wolf stopped beside a spot where all the vegetation had been flattened down. Derek stepped into the little nest, turning in a circle before flopping down. He stared at the human until Stiles took the hint and sat down next to him. It was barely big enough for the both of them; Stiles leaned into the wolf’s warm fur and stretched his legs out so his feet were resting on the sandy dirt that surrounded the lake.

The moon reflected off the gently shifting water, turning it a silvery color. Stiles gave a small laugh as he thought of just how dreamlike it was: the scenery, but also him sitting there with a fully shifted werewolf at his back, on a full moon.

He looked at the Alpha, lying there with his head on his paws, looking more like a docile pet than a deadly wolf, and suddenly felt the urge to pet him. Stiles hesitated for only a second before running a hand along his massive head. One red eye opened, looking out of place in the gray-and-black world, and Stiles could almost see one of Derek’s dark eyebrows rising. If he minded, he gave no indication, and a contented sigh when Stiles started to scratch behind one of his ears suggested just the opposite.

Stiles settled down, one arm draped over Derek’s furry neck so he could continue to pet him comfortably as he fell asleep.

 

He awoke the next morning to a human Derek playing with his hair. His cheek was pressed against the werewolf’s hard stomach, and when he opened his eyes, Derek was watching him. He looked sleepy, with just a hint of contentment.

“You’re awake,” the Alpha said through a yawn.

As an answer, Stiles rose and moved just enough that when he dropped back down, his face was resting on Derek’s shoulder. It was the first time the werewolf had let him get any sleep, and he had every intention of being lazy for as long as he was allowed.

Which wasn’t long. Derek yawned again as he rolled the human off and crawled on top of him. Stiles made some murmuring protest before a stubbly face started to nuzzle his neck, and a thumb rubbed one of his nipples through his shirt. Clearly he wasn’t getting back to sleep.

“So,” Stiles began, spreading his legs to accommodate the werewolf, “is this where you sleep when I’m not around?”

“Yes.”

Stiles had a horrifying realization then. “Have we been using Isaac’s bed?”

“Yes.”

Derek started kissing him; he decided to worry about the Beta later. He opened his mouth, inviting Derek’s tongue inside, and then chasing after it when the drowsy Alpha didn’t take the hint.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Derek mumbled against his lips.

“They don’t seem to be stopping you.”

The Alpha had a hand down Stiles’ pants and was stroking him to life. Their position made it awkward; Derek sat up so he could work more quickly, his own length more than ready. Stiles watched his face: his lips were parted and his eyebrows relaxed, for once. He noticed Stiles watching eventually, and their eyes met. The human was focused on trying to decide what color they were, exactly, and the words just slipped out.

“I like you.”

Derek froze. Stiles blinked, confused when the familiar tension returned. Then the Alpha was shifting into a wolf, and running off down the lakeshore without a word. Stiles looked from the wolf’s retreating tail to his own cock, which looked lonely, standing there abandoned.

“What the hell?” he asked it, but it had no answer, other than to start drooping sadly.

 

“Where were you?” Scott asked when Stiles found his way back to the cave. As usual, he was sitting with the Betas, two of whom looked excited to have controlled the shift on a full moon. Isaac, of course, was glaring, and snorted when Stiles answered, “Out for a walk.”

“They managed to stay human!” Scott announced, looking just as pleased as his fellow wolves.

“Oh, he knows,” Isaac said, then to Stiles, “Where’s Derek?”

Stiles shrugged. “He ran off.”

“Why?”

“Ask him when he gets back, and let me know, because I’m quite curious myself.”

The look Isaac gave him told him quite clearly what the likelihood of that was. He would have to ask Derek himself. And he _had_ to remember Isaac’s scarf. There was an awkward tension between them now, which thankfully didn’t exist with Erica. She gave no acknowledgment of what she had witnessed last night, or even of his existence, all her attention being on Boyd. He doubted he would ever be anything close to friends with Isaac, but he had to do something about the open hostility.

Scott was reluctant to leave, joyful as he was over his packmates’ accomplishment, and he babbled about it all the way home. Stiles wasn’t listening, his attention occupied by thoughts of Derek. He couldn’t think of anything he had done to warrant the Alpha running off like he had, unless it was what he had said . . . ? But that seemed ridiculous. How could Derek, with his muscles and no-nonsense eyebrows, be so immature?

Whatever the Alpha’s problem, it would have to wait. Stiles and Scott snuck into the village and immediately ran into Allison. She had been waiting for them. Her face was pale and worried; she gave Scott a scarily desperate hug. “I knew it couldn’t have been you.”

“What couldn’t have been me?” Scott asked, exchanging a confused look with his brother.

“Three people were found dead this morning,” she said quietly, glancing around like she was afraid a member of her family was lurking nearby. “They were covered in bites and scratches, like they had been killed by a werewolf.” She turned to Stiles, the beginnings of an accusation taking shape on her fair face.

“It wasn’t Derek or any of his Betas,” he said before she could say a word against them.

“How do you know?” she demanded. “They could have snuck in while you — ”

“I was with Derek all night.” Then, feeling like that was too close to the truth, “Because, you know, we . . . _sleep_ in the same cave. Separately.” He winched, because that actually sounded worse.

Allison’s eyes seemed to double in size as understanding flickered in their brown depths.

Scott, however, just nodded. “Yeah, and it couldn’t have been the Betas. I think I would have been able to smell the blood on them. I’m getting better at it.”

Stiles patted his brother on the shoulder, but his attention was still on Allison, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish’s as she processed the idea of him sleeping with Derek. Stiles tried not to cringe, feeling mortified that the huntress had guessed how he spent his full moons. To make matters worse, Scott noticed their expressions and said the last thing that either of them expected, “What? There’s nothing wrong with them sleeping together.”

“ _You knew?!_ ” Stiles and Allison burst out, respectively shocked and offended that he hadn’t said anything.

“I’m not stupid,” Scott said indignantly, “and I told you I’m getting better with smells. You and Derek smell like each other the way me and Allison, and Erica and Boyd do. That wouldn’t have happened if you were just sleeping in the same cave.”

“Wait, Erica and Boyd?”

“Yep, although they actually smell a bit different. I’m not sure — ”

“How is he?” Allison asked, surprising them both.

Stiles blinked. “Um, good. I mean, _really_ good. Spectacular, actually.” _When he isn’t acting like an eight-year-old._

“It must be a werewolf thing,” she said, patting Scott’s arm, in case her meaning wasn’t clear.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, during which looks were exchanged and gazes were averted and Scott was clearly struggling to hold back a grin.

“So, dead people,” Stiles changed the topic, clapping his hands together. “Anyone we know?”

Allison shook her head. “They all lived really close to your house, though.”

“ _Are my dad/mom and Melissa/the Sheriff okay?_ ” the boys demanded, their tones fierce enough to make the huntress jump.

“ _Completely_ ,” Allison reassured them firmly. “They are as fine as they were before you left last night. But you guys realize what this means, right?”

“There’s another werewolf.”

“And he or she is inside the town.”

 

After the discovery of the bodies, there was nothing Allison could say to keep wolf’s bane from being put in the water. Neither she nor the boys were inclined to argue with the decision, either, not if there was a murderous werewolf hiding in the town. They did, however, exchange worried glances when the patrols were increased yet again, and this time armed with crossbows.

“You get hit with this, and it is going to _hurt_ to get it out,” Allison warned, holding up one of the bolts. Stiles had never seen a crossbow bolt like it, the metal tip at the end shaped carefully into a series of barbs designed to grab onto any flesh it penetrated, and tear the unfortunate victim’s insides apart as it was removed. “My Aunt Kate invented it.”

_Of course she did_ , Stiles thought, shivering at the thought of being hit with one of the bolts. A werewolf had a chance of surviving, though doing so would be initially unpleasant; a human, though . . . if the damage itself didn’t kill them, the resulting infection probably would.

“Have they guessed about the circle yet?”

Allison shrugged. “Not that I’ve heard, but they think the werewolf must have an accomplice. Most likely a human one.”

“And, um, what does your family typically do to humans who help werewolves?”

“Hurt them, I suppose.”

Stiles forced himself not to look back at the bolt. “How badly?”

“As badly as they thought they needed to.”

“That’s lovely.”

The thought of the Argents ever learning about the two werewolves in his life terrified him, equally because of what they would do to him and what they would do to said werewolves. He worried about Scott and Derek, and to a slightly lesser extent, the three Betas. All three of the Betas were around his age; he doubted any of them was older than Allison. They were werewolves, a choice that could be considered questionable, but what had they done to deserve some horrible end at the hands of the Argents? They had never killed; he knew that by looking at their eyes.

According to the Argent family’s code, the Betas were off limits, but Stiles had come to realize over the years that the Argents only followed the code when convenient. The one exception was perhaps Allison’s father, but it was her mother that made the decisions. It was her mother that would no doubt enjoy castrating both Stiles and Scott, slowly and bloodily. And then there was Kate Argent, the mastermind behind the barbed bolts, whom Stiles hoped would remain nothing but a story.

“What’s Scott going to drink?”

Allison produced a flask, smiling. “We have our own well. I can easily bring him water from there.”

Scott took it gratefully, gulping the untainted water while Stiles looked on skeptically. “Aren’t they worried about werewolves getting to it?”

“It’s guarded.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just poison it?”

“Wolf’s bane can cause . . . problems, if you have too much of it.”

“Nice to know the Argents are so concerned with the health of the general population.”

Allison gave him _a look_ , which Stiles returned. Scott looked from one pale face to the other, worriedly watching the silent battle waging between the two. It went on for nearly a minute, neither of them willing to look away first, until Scott asked, “Does anyone else think it could be the werewolf Derek is looking for? The one with the burned face?”

“There’s no one like that in the town,” Allison pointed out, looking away only when Stiles did, both of them doing so reluctantly. “If some guy with a burned face had appeared, we would have heard something.”

Stiles almost nodded in agreement. “Wait.” He had never seen it for himself, but he knew how hard it was to kill a werewolf. “What if it he healed? Before coming here.”

“Wouldn’t Derek have said so?” Allison asked.

“What if he didn’t know?”

“With how fast werewolves heal — ”

“What if the injury was really bad?”

Allison looked skeptical. “I’ve never heard of an injury so bad a werewolf couldn’t heal from it. Not one that wasn’t immediately lethal.”

“Can you _very_ discretely ask your parents?” Stiles asked. “And I’ll ask Derek next full moon.”

“Actually,” Scott cut in, “maybe you should ask him sooner? We need to catch this werewolf, before he kills anyone else.”

“I agree,” Allison said. “You should go ask him tonight. And I’ll do the same with my parents.”

It wasn’t hard for Stiles to agree to that. The werewolf — whoever he was — had to be stopped, and Derek had some explaining to do after that morning. So that night, he snuck out of the town and made his way into the forest alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Once again, if you're not caught up on Teen Wolf: Turn back! Abort! Spoilers!**
> 
>  
> 
> That's two female characters that I felt a connection to, dead. First, Erica, now Allison. WHY!?! *ugly sobbing* They better not brush her death off like they did Erica's.
> 
> I feel so bad for all the characters. Why do I get so invested in fictional people?!


	7. Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Writing porn in a room full of people really slows the process down. But anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and thank you as always for reading and commenting and kudos; they make long hours of glancing over my shoulder like I'm committing a crime worth it! :)

Erica and Boyd were surprised to see him, their eyes already staring questioningly before he stumbled his way free of the trees. Isaac just gave a disgusted snort before shifting into the pale wolf, which lept away into the darkness. Derek, however, was nowhere to be seen. Erica invited Stiles to sit by the fire with a gesture, where what looked like a squirrel was roasting. He took a seat on one of the old logs the werewolves had probably dragged out of the forest. Erica offered him a hind leg, which he refused, before saying, “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”

Stiles bit back a sarcastic comment. “I need to speak to Derek.”

“About?”

“Something important. Which he will want to hear.”

“He ran off a few minutes before you got here,” Boyd said, ripping the squirrel in half. _With his hands_. The sound made Stiles flinch.

Erica accepted the other half with a smile, which disappeared when she looked back at the slightly nauseated human. “What did you say to him?”

“Pardon?”

“He’s had this look,” she said. “Ever since he came back this morning. And he has barely spoken to any of us all day.”

“Well,” Stiles began hesitantly. What he and the Alpha did and said in private wasn’t really her business, but he could use some advice. “I told him I liked him.”

“ _Oh,_ ” both the Betas said, like everything made sense now. Which was great for them but Stiles still needed an explanation.

“Yes?”

“Derek has . . . commitment issues,” Erica said quietly, like the Alpha might hear her. Stiles wondered if he was, in fact, nearby, listening to their conversation.

“What does that have to do with me?” Stiles asked, more sharply than was really necessary. It wasn’t Erica’s fault, but damn it, this whole situation was annoying. “How is ’I like you’ a commitment?”

“It isn’t, but it’s Derek,” she said, shrugging apologetically at the unsatisfying answer. “He did the same thing to me and Isaac.”

“Wait, you and — ” Stiles’ head dropped into his hands with a groan as he finally saw the whole picture. It wasn’t just that he had accidently stolen Isaac’s scarf, or used his bed. It was that the Beta had feelings for Derek. And being a werewolf, there was no way he wasn’t completely aware of what Stiles and the Alpha had been doing for the past few months. “You and Isaac?” he asked quietly, somewhat defeated.

“He basically seduced both of us into becoming werewolves.” Erica tossed a small, bare bone over her shoulder. “First Isaac, then me. The problem was that Isaac . . . started to get serious; it wasn’t so bad for me: I met Boyd shortly after. Isaac, though . . .”

“His abandonment issues are almost equal to the ones Derek has with commitment,” Boyd finished, his half of the squirrel already a pile of bones at his feet.

“So, he used both of you,” Stiles said, a mixture of sympathy and denial in his voice. He didn’t want to believe Derek was like that, but he could understand how the Betas felt.

“He made our lives better,” Boyd stated firmly, and Stiles thought he saw his eyes flash gold for just an instant.

“By turning you into werewolves?”

It was Erica who answered. “You don’t know what our lives were like before Derek gave us the bite. Trust me, being a werewolf is so much better than what I was as a human.” She trailed off, eyes going unfocused as she remembered something. After several seconds, the sharp gaze returned, fixing once again on the human. “Derek never lied to any of us. We all knew what we were getting into.”

“You’re okay with him using you for sex?” Stiles asked incredulously. He thought of that last night with Peter, when he had felt like little more than something for the older man to fuck. He couldn’t imagine anyone liking being used like that.

Erica laughed. “Oh, we never had sex with him.”

“Wait, but — ”

“Well,” Boyd said, talking to the blonde Beta rather than Stiles, “not full-on, penetrative sex.”

“Yeah, true, there was plenty of oral —”

“Aaand _stop_!” Stiles cried, desperate to not hear about Erica’s sex life.

“You really shouldn’t be criticizing,” Erica said. “Derek seduced you, too, and you have been mutually using one another for sex almost as long as you’ve known each other.”

Stiles had to admit she had a point. Not that he was going to admit it; instead, he changed the subject: “So why does Derek have commitment issues?”

Erica and Boyd exchanged a silent look. “You would have to ask Isaac. He knows more than we do, but it might have to do with Derek’s old pack.”

Stiles thought about what Isaac had said. _Fucking a human was what got your first pack killed!_ While there was little chance of getting Isaac to elaborate, maybe Derek himself would.

Both Erica and Boyd chuckled when he made the suggestion. “I doubt he’s going to talk to you again,” Erica said. “Me and Isaac, we’re his pack, so he couldn’t just run away, but you . . . ” She shrugged.

“Commitment issues,” Boyd said with a nod.

“ _I’m not committing!_ ”

Erica shrugged again. “Good luck convincing _him_ of that.”

“Is he listening right now?” Stiles demanded, deciding that he was going to do exactly that.

“Yes.”

“DEREK!” Stiles called, even though he was sure the werewolf could hear him just fine if he were talking. “Come out right now, or I’m not telling you about that scarred werewolf.”

Erica and Boyd both looked at him sharply. He thought he saw the corner of the blonde Beta’s mouth turn upwards before she glanced over her shoulder. “He’s coming,” she said, and finished the rest of the squirrel off in seconds.

The Alpha came striding out of the woods, first as a dark wolf, then as a scowling, very-naked man, his pace barely faltering as he transformed. Erica and Boyd stood simultaneously and disappeared into the cave together, while Derek took their place in front of Stiles. He stared at the boy over the fire, expectant and silent.

Stiles wanted to ask him about his old pack; he wanted to know what happened to them, why Derek had spent months out here, waiting for the mystery werewolf. There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask, but only one he could think of that wouldn’t potentially scare the Alpha away.

“Could the werewolf you’re looking for have healed?” Stiles began, watching Derek’s face. The firelight sent sharp shadows dancing across his features and made his eyes gleam.

His voice was quiet and flat when he answered, even though the interest was clear on his face. “Maybe, given enough time. Why?”

“There’s a werewolf in the town. Three people are dead.”

Derek’s face darkened, and it had nothing to do with the lighting.

“You know, if you gave me more of a description, I could be more helpful,” Stiles said when the Alpha remained unresponsive.

There was a long pause. So long, that Stiles was surprised when he finally received an answer. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Older than me.”

“How old?”

“Not as old as he looks.”

Something about that was familiar. Stiles frowned as he tried to think why, but he had to put the thought aside. Derek was standing, and Stiles still had questions; he needed him to stay. He needed to get him to _speak_.

Stiles all but ran over to the werewolf, reaching him before he was fully upright and pushing down on his shoulders with all his strength. Derek looked up at him, eyes wide, as he was forced to sit back down, and Stiles knew that is was only that moment of surprise that had allowed him to delay Derek. He needed to do something fast to get the Alpha to stay.

He only hesitated for an instant; then he planted himself in Derek’s lap, straddling him, and ensured that no more words came out of his mouth by sealing it with his own. He kissed against shut, unresponsive lips. Large hands gripped the tops of his arms and jerked him back, away from Derek’s angry face. The Alpha glared at him with red eyes, and Stiles couldn’t help his heart’s nervous stutter.

“No,” Derek said firmly. “We’re done.”

“Why?” Stiles demanded. He managed to keep the nervousness out of his voice, but only by avoiding the glaring eyes. He stared instead at Derek’s stubble-covered chin.

“I heard your conversation with Erica and Boyd. You know why.”

“Derek, I said I _liked_ you. Ten-year-olds handle that better than you did. I know, because I told a girl when I was ten that I liked her, and she didn’t rush off into the forest.” Derek’s glare remained, as did his silence and his grip on the boy’s arms. “Seriously!” Stiles snapped. “I didn’t declare my undying love for you, or anything like that.” Derek flinched a little, but Stiles kept going, “I didn’t get down on one knee and ask you to marry me and stay with me forever and ever. I said I like you, and I had assumed the feeling was mutual, since we’ve been fucking like rabbits for the last few full moons.”

Derek’s face softened. It was a minute change, but it was something, though his hands maintained their grip, and his eyebrows remained serious. “Look, I get it,” Stiles said, lowering his voice. “This is temporary. You’re using me because you’re lonely or bored, or whatever; I’m doing the same, because you’re ridiculously attractive and I have developed an appreciation for amazing werewolf sex.” The werewolf’s wolf mouth moved ever so slightly at that, and Stiles returned the smile with an equally small one of his own. “So can we keep mutually using each other for however long this lasts?”

Derek regarded him quietly for a time, and his expression gradually shifted into something more positive. “As long as you understand that my pack comes first, and you are _temporary_. You won’t ever be anything more than that; I don’t get attached to humans.”

Stiles nodded. “I understand, and there’s only one thing I’m expecting . . . ”

The werewolf let out a sigh as the human’s fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it quickly and a little roughly until it was standing between them, the tip leaking readily. Derek’s hands loosened their hold and slid down to Stiles’ hips. Stiles leaned forward, and this time his kiss was returned. Teeth and lips nipped and slid against each other, Stiles smiling against the werewolf’s mouth as they began to rock their hips together. He grumbled a little, his own length still uncomfortably confined, and reached down to free himself.

“You know we can hear you two, right?” a feminine voice echoed from the cave. Stiles’ hands stopped, hovering uncertainly, but Derek didn’t even hesitate. If anything, his movements grew more forceful as he called back, “Pretend you can’t. Just like me and Isaac always do for you and Boyd.”

His lips returned to Stiles’, where he mumbled, “If you don’t take your clothes off now, I’m going to tear them off.”

Stiles did as he was told quickly and somewhat awkwardly, Derek refusing to pause for more than a second or two at a time. Finally, though, he was naked and long fingers were stretching him open. He took on the task of slicking Derek’s cock, doing so quickly, as the werewolf was already lifting him with an ease no human could have managed. He held him up, so the head of his cock was just brushing his entrance.

Derek’s face stretched into one of his rare grins, one that had a hint of mischief; Stiles cried out as he was half-dropped, filled almost too quickly. He dug his nails into Derek’s shoulders, gripping tight as the werewolf thrust upwards.

It was strange at first, a position he had never tried before. Derek seemed to reach farther into him than ever before, and Stiles quickly dismissed the oddness as Derek latched onto his neck, like he always did. He shivered with pleasure and leaned forward, adjusting the angle like he’d learned, so Derek’s thrusts hit him in that perfect spot that made his vision blur. Stiles let himself fall forward a little more, until their chests were touching. He shut his eyes, so he was aware only of the feeling of Derek moving inside him, and the way his arms and teeth held onto him possessively.

It occurred to him then that this was the first time he and Derek had faced one another during sex. Derek always flipped him over just before; it was nice, not having to worry about his knees hurting after, or about falling over halfway through.

It also made for some interesting possibilities.

Opening his eyes, he leaned back and twisted his fingers through the werewolf’s black hair. Derek growled as his head was pulled back, away from Stiles’ neck, but he allowed it after some seconds of resistance.

He seemed a little surprised when Stiles started kissing him, but slowed his thrusts so they didn’t have to worry about accidently biting one another. Stiles let out a small whine, but understood that it was a necessary compromise. And not an entirely unpleasant one, he found, as his tongue slid against Derek’s. Being able to kiss him made up for the slower pace, which became more pleasant as the minutes passed. It took them both longer to come, but delaying the end only made it better, if slightly less explosive than usual.

They gasped against one another’s mouths as they came almost simultaneously, Derek giving a last few erratic thrusts as Stiles released across his chest and belly.

“You liked that?” Derek asked after a minute or two. Their cheeks were pressed together, and his breath tickled Stiles’ ear.

“Um, obviously,” Stiles said, nodding down at the mess he’d made on the werewolf’s torso.

“ _Thank God!_ ” Derek sighed. He lifted Stiles like before so he could slip out of him before setting the human back down.

“Why?”

“I don’t normally like it as rough as you seem to.”

Stiles would have asked him to elaborate, if he hadn’t come to the conclusion on his own. He looked up at the moon; still round and bright, but not quite full anymore. “The full moon makes you horny!”

Derek glared at him, but didn’t deny it.

“Brings out your inner wolf, huh?” Stiles grinned, and, thinking about how Derek usually had him on his hands and knees, knew he was right. It was a little disappointing, but he thought he could get used to gentler sex.

As they resumed kissing, Stiles found himself thinking over Derek’s words. _“Thank God!”_ Did they mean the werewolf wouldn’t mind him visiting more often, not just on the full moon? He opened his mouth to ask, but decided against it; he didn’t want to give Derek the option of saying no. He would just show up, and if the Alpha didn’t complain, well then . . .

“So, um,” he asked instead, “does that mean you wouldn’t be interested in doing it again?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a full moon to fuck you into unconsciousness.”

 ~~

Thankfully, he didn’t go that far, because Stiles needed to get home before dawn. He got close, though, and by the end, Stiles was certain he’d blacked out for at least a few seconds. The werewolf’s smug look as Stiles got dressed seemed to confirm that theory.

He left in a considerably better mood than he’d arrived, grinning as he made his way through the forest with his usual lack of grace. Roots and branches couldn’t dampen his mood, and it wasn’t until he ran face-first into a massive spider web that he stopped smiling.

He was still rubbing at his face, trying to get rid of the unsettling feeling the sticky strands had left, when he reached the town wall. “Damn spiders,” he whispered angrily, finding some more of the web in his hair. He removed it with an exaggerated shiver, flapping his hand violently to rid himself of the web.

In between flaps, he caught a flash of red, and froze. Because when he looked, two red dots —two red _eyes_ — were looking back, and the dark shape they were attached to wasn’t Derek.

It was too big to be Derek, even in his wolf form, and the shape wasn’t entirely human or entirely animal. As he watched, the thing dropped down and stalked towards him. Even on all fours, it was huge.

Stiles backed away, quickly abandoning the idea of trying to slip through the hole. He had no doubt the werewolf could easily follow him, and he didn’t want to lead it into the town. So he ran instead, racing back the way he had come. This _had_ to be the werewolf Derek was looking for; if he could make it back to the cave, Derek and his Betas could finally take care of the monster . . .

He didn’t make it, of course. There was no chance of him outrunning a werewolf. He had barely taken four steps before something hit him in the back and sent him sprawling. A giant paw — he could feel the claws digging into his shoulders — pressed down on him, dashing any hope of escape.

Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to struggle; he was too terrified, could feel the werewolf’s hot breath on the back of his neck. He shivered, despite the heat coming off of the creature above him. The claws dug in deeper, fangs snapped together next to his ear. He let out a tiny whimper, squeezing his eyes shut.

The weight disappeared.

Stiles blinked. The creature was gone. He didn’t move at first, unable to believe that he was still alive. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his shoulders. He looked around, and his heart jumped when he saw the red eyes again, watching him from a few feet away. He crawled the first few feet, unable to get his balance in his desperation to escape the beast.

He had just made it to his feet when the werewolf appeared in front of him, moving almost too fast to see. He skidded to a halt, spun around, back towards the forest. But the werewolf was in front of him again, red eyes burning. Stiles ran back, then back again; he tried dodging to the side, but every time he turned, the werewolf was in front of him, watching.

Realizing it wasn’t attacking, Stiles tried rushing _at_ it. A mistake. He was struck in the chest by a paw, and sent flying backwards. He hit the ground hard, head cracking against the dry surface. He didn’t realize his eyes were shut until a hot breath hit his face and he looked up to find his face less than an inch away from a sharp-toothed mouth.

The claws returned, pressing into his chest. This time, he forced himself to move, lashing out, punching the werewolf in one of its glowing eyes as hard as his weak, human arm could manage. The wolf howled, spit flying as it shook its head. Stiles lashed out again, striking it in the throat, then in its wet nose. Stiles felt an instant of hope that just maybe he could scare it off. But in the next instant, the razor-sharp claws were slashing downwards; Stiles gasped, not quite feeling the pain yet, but knowing he had to be injured. The werewolf disappeared once more, and Stiles touched his chest with shaking fingers that came away wet.

He didn’t know how badly he was hurt; he couldn’t feel it, and the moonlight provided only hard-to-distinguish shades of gray. He sat up slowly, afraid of the pain that he knew was coming.

The red eyes cut through the dark, one smaller than the other like it was still squinting from his punch. It watched patiently as he stood, waiting until he tried to run before shoving him back down to the ground. The werewolf made a huffing sound; Stiles realized with a start that the creature was laughing. It was _playing_ with him.

“What do you want?” he asked, pushing himself up. He had a hand pressed uselessly to his chest; the scratches went from his collarbone to his belly. Whatever blood was flowing, he could do nothing to stop. “Who are you?”

That huffing sound again. A single clawed paw went up, waving sideways, towards the town wall.

It wanted him to keep running.

And he did. There was nothing else to do; he was afraid of what would happen when the game ended. So he kept running, kept standing each time he was pushed or slapped to the ground. He didn’t dare hit the wolf again, not with the scratches beginning to burn as he tired. Soon, he could barely stand, his breaths coming out in painful bursts, while the wolf continued to laugh and circle around him.

It could have played the game all night, and probably would have kept it up until Stiles collapsed from exhaustion, if not for the patrol.

A voice called out from atop the wall. Stiles couldn’t focus enough to understand the words; his vision was doing strange things, and all he could really think about then was moving. He had to keep moving, in whatever direction the red eyes weren’t.

Something whistled. The wolf yelped. The eyes disappeared

Stiles stood still, breathing hard and looking around, waiting to be slammed into the ground again. But the hit never came. The werewolf was gone. Another shout from above spurred Stiles into motion. He moved as fast as possible, which meant a slow stumble, desperate to be inside the safety of the walls. _But it’s not safe anymore_ , he thought dimly.

There wasn’t anywhere safe anymore, not with the circle broken.

He was halfway through the hole, halfway into the illusion of safety, when he found himself being jerked back by his ankle. He was lifted and slammed against the wall, a hand gripping his jaw with crushing force. A human hand, Stiles realized. The werewolf had shifted; he tried to look down, to see the face, but he could hardly breathe. He tried to coordinate his hands, to grab at the arm, but he was slammed into the wall again.

Pain shot through his head. His whole body seemed to go numb, leaving an odd floating sensation. He was going to pass out soon, he realized. He thought he felt something brush his lips just before his head was slammed against the hard surface one last time.

 ~~

He didn’t know what was happening when he woke. His head was throbbing and all he could make out was light and the dark, human shapes moving against it. Above him. Was he lying down?

“Stiles?” one of the shapes said, and the voice was familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to it. His thoughts were drifting, refusing to organize, and his vision was already fading back to black.

“He’s awake?” asked another voice, one that filled him with a sense of foreboding. He couldn’t say why though; he couldn’t even focus long enough to decide if it was male or female.

“Yeah.”

“Stiles, can you hear me?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer before passing out again.

 ~~

It was dark next time he opened his eyes, and he was alone. His head still pounded, but he could think more clearly, enough to recall a vague summary of what had happened. He reached a hand up to his aching chest and ran his fingers along the bandages covering most of his torso. Somehow he was alive, which was good, but he wasn’t sure being conscious was. Not with the injuries that were rapidly making themselves known through either a throbbing ache or a fiery burn.

“Fucking werewolves,” he croaked, the movement aggravating the ache along his jaw, where the werewolf’s fingers had dug in. It was almost like they were still there, threatening to crush his bones.

Unable to see anything in the dark place, he felt around him, gathering that he was lying on a bed. An incredibly soft bed, with sweet-smelling sheets. The smell was familiar, but rather than figure out why, he put effort into sitting up. It was scarily difficult, and the pounding in his head increased along with the burning of the scratches.

He made it up, though, and proceeded to stand. He wobbled unsteadily at first, but didn’t fall. He made his way across the room, hand out in front of him until his fingers brushed a wall. He walked along it, passing a corner before reaching a door. He noticed a sliver of light down next to his feet as he fumbled around for the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Stiles still couldn’t make out much beyond variations in light and dark; there was a scraping sound, like a chair being pushed back, and footsteps. A person-shape approached him from the side and something sharp pressed against his throat. He froze, tried and failed to focus on the person.

“Mr. Argent! He’s awake!”

Stiles’ mouth went dry as he remembered where he knew the sweet smell from. It was a scent he had gotten used to since Scott had introduced him to Allison, one he didn’t think much of anymore. Now, though, it filled him with fear, because it meant the stranger beside him wouldn’t hesitate to slash his throat. No hunter in the Argent house would, if ordered to do so.

“I see you’re feeling considerably better, Mr. Stilinski,” said the voice of Gerard Argent. “Let’s talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, getting scratched by Peter will not turn Stiles into a were-jaguar :P


	8. Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *le gasp!* I managed to write a chapter without a single sex scene. I hope you all enjoy this dose of uninterrupted plot!
> 
> And as always, thanks for comments, kudos, and simply reading!

Stiles wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. He was in the Argent house, surrounded by trained killers, and he had a suspicion that an escape attempt would end abruptly with an arrow in his back. So he stood there, listening as Gerard’s footsteps drew near, and tried to focus on the old man’s shape as much as possible. A rough hand gripped him just above the elbow, and he found himself being dragged slowly but firmly down the hall. His chest ached, but he held back any complaints. He had a feeling they would just be ignored.

Gerard led him into another room, where he pushed the boy down into a chair. Stiles winched when his injured back hit the chair; the impact made most of the rest of his body hurt as well, and he took a few seconds to wonder how many bruises he had. Was anything _broken_? Probably not, since standing and walking hadn’t caused him any excruciating pain; his head, though . . . He reached up to touch the back of it and blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. He hoped the werewolf hadn’t hit him hard enough to cause permanent damage.

“So, Mr. Stilinski,” Gerard said. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, you know, splendid,” Stiles answered. “Except for everything that hurts. Which is everything. But I’m alive; that’s what counts, right?”

“Wrong, Mr. Stilinski.” Hands smaller than Gerard’s curled over his shoulders, long nails running along his skin just enough to make a chill run down his spine. “What matters,” Victoria Argent said, “is what you’re going to turn into on the next full moon.”

“I wasn’t really planning on turning into anything,” Stiles said shakily.

“I certainly hope not,” Victoria said, running a nail along his neck, right where the hunter’s blade had been just minutes before. “That would be unfortunate.” The huntress’ hand slid down, so she could tug on the edge of the bandages. “Let’s remove these and see.”

Stiles would have preferred she didn’t; the last thing he needed was some horrible infection. But he wasn’t about to voice an argument, not when she was close enough to snap his neck, killing him much quicker than any infection. He sat in tense silence as Victoria produced a small knife and proceeded to slice away at the cloth. It was cold in the room, and it only grew colder as more of his bare skin was exposed to the air. He didn’t even dare shiver, not with the woman’s unsettling presence at his back, and all his vital organs in stabbing distance of her blade. When she was done, she remained silent and that scared him so much he all but clawed at his chest, feeling his way along the scratches to try and determine if they were healing unusually fast.

“He’s still human,” Gerard said, and Stiles thought he heard a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Awesome!” Stiles said, his voice just a little shrill. “Can I go home now?”

“We need to ask you some questions first,” Victoria said. Her hands once again rested on his shoulders, and Stiles had to fight the urge to shake her off as he asked, “They can’t wait until I’m somewhat less” — he waved a hand at his torso — “eviscerated?”

“The safety of this town is at stake, so no, Mr. Stilinski, they can’t wait.” Victoria’s fingers tightened their grip. “You said some things over the last few days which we were hoping you could elaborate on.”

“Happy to help,” Stiles said cheerily, though inside he was panicking, wondering if he had said anything that could put Scott in danger.

“You mentioned you were attacked by an Alpha; when asked if it was the one you spotted a few months ago, you said . . . ‘It wasn’t them. They wouldn’t do this’.” An expectant silence followed; Stiles managed to keep his face neutral, but he could feel his heartbeat increase, and wondered if Victoria noticed the change.

“This was a different Alpha. H – it was bigger. It wasn’t quite wolf or quite human.”

“And your familiarity with the other werewolves?”

“What?” Stiles asked innocently; it didn’t sound entirely convincing, as he had never been good at playing innocent.

“’They wouldn’t do this’. It gives the impression that you somehow know those wolves, don’t you think?”

“I haven’t seen that pack since the first time,” he lied, licking his lips nervously. “I’m certainly not familiar with any werewolves.”

“I see. Well then, are you familiar with the law against leaving the town without permission?”

Stiles closed his eyes. Of course they would ask that; they had found him outside the wall. He had two options, two answers he could give, and both would have less-than-ideal consequences. He went back and forth, trying to decide what to say, until Gerard’s voice prompted him for a reply.

“I didn’t leave it,” he said slowly, hoping he had made the right decision. “I was out for a walk and I heard something near one of the breaks. When I got closer to look around, the werewolf reached through and grabbed me.”

There was a stunned silence that lasted a few heartbeats, then Gerard asked quietly, “That would suggest that the circle has been broken somehow. Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“It just reached through like there was nothing stopping it,” Stiles confirmed.

There was a strain to Gerard’s voice as he said, “Victoria, could you please send word to my daughter, and ask her to return? _Immediately_.” The huntress had left the room with a reluctant grumble, the weight of her hands thankfully gone from Stiles’ shoulders, and the old man spoke again. His tone, for once, wasn’t particularly terrifying, but his next few words were, “Who is Derek Hale?”

It was a test. Stiles knew it immediately, because he had never learned the Alpha’s last name. He didn’t speak right away, knowing he had to give the right answer, but unsure of what that was. How was he supposed to explain saying a name he shouldn’t know?

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles croaked, and then cleared his throat before repeating the answer. It didn’t sound much more confident the second time.

“Werewolves are tricky creatures, Mr. Stilinski,” the old hunter said. “Trickier than a lot of other shape-shifters. Do you know why?”

“No,” Stiles said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Because they are so good at acting human,” Gerard explained. He was little more than a blur to Stiles, but while the boy couldn’t see his smile, he could hear it quite clearly in his voice. And it wasn’t a nice smile. “So good, that even we hunters have our doubts. That’s why we have the code.” Gerard’s blur moved closer, becoming slightly more detailed, until Stiles could make out the wrinkles on the old man’s hand as it reached forward and surprisingly strong fingers gripped his jaw. He struggled a little as his head was tilted up, and his already-aching jaw squeezed painfully. He glared up at the hunter, and got a chilling smile in return. “Now I, personally, think that a monster is a monster, and should be treated as such. Don’t you agree?”

Stiles remained silent, not trusting himself to answer without giving something away. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until Gerard released his jaw. He gasped and then tensed up again when the tips of rough, old fingers drifted down to lightly rest on the side of his neck, over a certain bruise that had nothing to do with the attack.

“It’s important to know your enemy,” Gerard said, something calculating in his eyes as he regarded the boy. “And to not be fooled by a pretty face.”

Stiles’ heart stuttered painfully, and this time he couldn’t stay expressionless, his eyes widening in shock.

Gerard didn’t comment, and his hand withdrew abruptly, giving a dismissive wave. He turned away with a thoughtful expression, seemingly forgetting about the boy when he didn’t acknowledge his presence for the next few minutes.

Stiles made his way out of the room with a cautious slowness, but his speed gradually increased the closer he got to the door. As soon as it slammed shut behind him, he ran as fast as he could. He didn’t know where, having seen little of the Argent house beyond Allison’s room, but it didn’t matter. All he cared about was getting away from Gerard Argent. He still couldn’t see properly, however, and his ability to do so only decreased as he rushed through the maze-like house. His breathing became labored within seconds of him starting his half-blind dash, and his head was soon spinning, making it harder to see. He was brought to a painful halt when a door creaked open right in front of him.

Stiles didn’t try to get up; he felt sick, and it wasn’t entirely because of his injuries.

Someone touched his arm, and he aimed weak slaps at the faceless hunter. Whoever it was easily avoided his blind flailing as they lifted him up and leaned him against the wall. Small, soft hands gripped his wrists, putting an end to his attack, and a pretty, concerned voice said his name.

“Allison?” he asked quietly, trying to focus on her face, only to find that he couldn’t, despite how close she was.

“What happened?” Allison asked, then more quietly, “Are you a . . .?”

Stiles gave a weak laugh. “A werewolf? No.” He could understand why she would ask though, after finding him fleeing through her house.

“Oh, no,” she said. He felt her touch his chest. “You’re bleeding again.”

“Listen,” Stiles said urgently, because he could feel the weightlessness he’d felt the first time he had woken up, just before he had passed out. “Your grandfather knows.” He whispered the words, not knowing if there were any other hunters nearby. “He knows about Derek and me.”

“What?!” Allison hissed, just as quietly. “Stiles, are you sure. If he knew, I don’t think you’d be here right now.”

Stiles didn’t get a chance to answer, because he was already drifting off into another dreamless sleep.

 

 ~~

 

“What were those idiots thinking?!”

Stiles opened his eyes at the sound of Melissa’s voice, and immediately regretted it when the brightly-lit room sent pain shooting through his head. His still-throbbing head.

“They hold him for two days with almost no medical care, and then they scare him half to death,” Scott’s mother seethed. “Look at this! Most of these scratches are infected. I don’t think they even bothered cleaning them.”

“Will he be okay?” asked the Sheriff, voice thick with worry.

“Maybe.”

Maybe?!”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Melissa snapped, dabbing at Stiles’ wounds with what felt like a wet cloth. “The scratches themselves aren’t deep enough to be fatal, but with the infection and the fever . . . _Damn_ those Argents.”

_Oh, great_ , Stiles thought, then he was gone again.

 

~~

 

_There was blood under his feet. It splashed as he walked through it, enough of it to lap at his ankles. Everywhere he looked, there was just more blood. Even the sky was red, glaring and empty of clouds. He thought he was alone in the red field, until he saw a figure standing in the distance. He ran towards him, but came to a squelching halt when he saw that it was Gerard Argent, holding a dripping dagger._

Know your enemy, _he said, though his lips didn’t move. He pointed a single gnarled finger to the right. Stiles turned, and suddenly found himself in a circle of wooden posts, each holding up the gutted body of a werewolf. Stiles spun, looking at each of the lifeless faces._

_Scott._

_Peter._

_Isaac._

_Erica._

_Boyd._

_Derek._

They didn’t do anything! _he shouted, though Gerard was no longer there to hear him. He didn’t receive an answer; he was alone in the circle of still-bleeding corpses._

Stiles.

_He spun around, a smile stretching across his face. He let out a happy laugh when he saw Peter, no longer hanging dead from the post, but leaning against it. He ran to the older man, arms out to throw around him._

_He was stopped just inches away by a knife, just like Gerard’s, stabbing into his belly._

And don’t be fooled by a pretty face, _Peter said, twisting the blade._

 

~~

 

Stiles was suddenly awake, his eyes snapping open. The room was much dimmer than before, but there was enough light to see his dad snoring softly in a chair across the room. He could see, he realized with a single, breathy laugh that had the Sheriff jerking awake with a snort.

“Stiles!” He was quickly wrapped up in a suffocating hug and half-lifted from the bed. The scratches burned from the movement, but his father didn’t seem to notice his muffled protests. “He’s awake!”

Two sets of footsteps pounded down the hall and into his room. “Put him _down_!” Melissa screeched. “You’ll rip his stitches!” Stiles was dropped abruptly with a muttered apology.

“How are you feeling?” she asked Stiles more gently, a hand going to his forehead.

“Better,” he answered, deciding against giving her an account of all his aches and pains. There were shadows under her eyes and her hair was a mess, like she hadn’t bothered with it in a while; he didn’t want to make her more worried than she looked. “How long was I asleep?”

“Which time?” Scott asked. He was standing with his arms crossed, trying to stay more composed than their parents, though his face gave away his relief.

“How long since the attack?” Stiles restated, propping himself up despite Melissa’s protests.

“About a week.”

“And I’m not dying anymore?” he asked Melissa.

“No,” she said. “ _But_ ,” she added when Stiles tried to sit up more, ”you’re staying in bed until those scratches heal.” Her stern look left no room for argument; Stiles sighed, while Scott let out a small chuckle.

 

~~

 

It was a few days before Melissa reluctantly let Allison in to visit, and then she hovered for most of the visit, making it impossible for the three teenagers to discuss what they needed to. After several awkward minutes under the woman’s sharp gaze, the young huntress said her goodbyes and left. Scott soon followed, after his mother made a rude comment about Allison and her family, and Melissa went after him, her tone exasperated as she called down the hall. Stiles was left alone for the time being, and he sighed with relief. He had never appreciated solitude until he found himself being watched and fussed over almost constantly, by either his father or Melissa, and on a few occasions, both. He was glad Scott and been moved to the guest bedroom, for the time being (so Stiles could get his rest, Melissa said). He made the most of his little moments of peace by either sitting up, or on occasion walking around the room until he heard footsteps approaching. Then he would throw himself back onto the bed, quickly snuggling under the blanket and doing his best to look bored, which became increasingly less difficult.

On one such occasion, he managed to do exactly what Melissa had worried about, and ripped several of his stitches. She had been furious, and he had earned himself another week of bed rest.

Scott ended up a courier, exchanging messages from Allison and Stiles to one another, and sharing his own opinions in the process. It wasn’t the most efficient way to hold conversations, but with Stiles confined and Allison banned for the time being, it was the only way to discuss what had happened. Neither of them had any idea who the second Alpha could be, and the older Argents resumed their habit of keeping Allison in the dark. If they did, in fact, know about Derek and Stiles, they said nothing to her. All three on them were concerned by the arrival of Kate Argent, another week later. Allison’s concern was mixed with joy, of course, being quite close to her aunt. However, even she was less than happy when Kate showed up at Stiles and Scott’s house one day.

Kate Argent was every bit as beautiful as her niece, but she had the same coldness in her eyes as the rest of the Argents, and she made Stiles think more of Gerard than Allison. Under Melissa’s watchful glare, she asked Stiles variations of Gerard and Victoria’s questions. He lied more easily this time, having recovered considerably since then and being in the comfort of his own home.

“I knew Derek Hale,” she said near the end. “Back before his pack was killed.”

“That’s that first Alpha I saw, right?” Stiles asked, keeping his face blank. Kate smiled knowingly, reinforcing his suspicion that the hunters knew more than they were saying, but simply answered, “That’s right. Ever seen him in human form?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Mmm, you’re missing out then,” Kate said, and something in her voice creeped Stiles out. “He’s an impressive specimen.”

She left after that, but not before running a finger along his neck, were the mark Derek had left was still just barely visible. She said her goodbyes with a smirk that had Stiles in a panic for about ten minutes, until Scott managed to calm him down.

“I don’t know about the rest of the Argents,” Stiles told his brother. “But Kate and Gerard _know_.”

“Then why haven’t they said anything yet?” Scott asked. It was the same question he and Allison had been asking for the past two weeks, anytime Stiles brought up his suspicions, and he had no answer.

“She knows,” he insisted, and Scott only sighed in response.

Despite having finally been allowed out of bed,Stiles wasn’t able to leave the town during the next full moon, not with Melissa and the Sheriff still being annoyingly watchful. They wouldn’t let him walk down the stairs, much less leave the house. He didn't want to risk getting caught, and, truthfully, he was afraid of running into the other Alpha. So that full moon, instead of seeing Derek, he lay awake in the bed he was beginning to hate and stared at the ceiling. The scratches, though half healed, began to ache when a beam of moonlight shining through the window touched him. While not outright painful, it was far from pleasant, and Melissa went into a frenzy when she found him sleeping on the floor the next morning, far from the reach of the silvery light.

Scott returned with worrying news, relayed to him when he had woken up by Isaac, of how Derek had almost gone after the other Alpha when he learned what had happened. Despite his Betas’ protests, both verbal and physical, he had made it as far as the wall. He would have entered the town, had Erica not taken an arrow to the leg. He had returned to the forest reluctantly; Scott said the Betas weren't sure if they could keep him there.

Worse news came from Allison, who had finally been allowed an unsupervised visit.

“Kate wants to go after him,” she said. “My dad disagrees, but my aunt tends to only listen to Gerard.”

“Would she go alone?” Stiles asked, worried.

“Yes,” Allison said, “if Gerard hadn’t forbidden it.”

“So we’re two bad decisions away from a possible massacre.”

“Basically, yeah.”

With that lovely thought in mind, and the Argents more alert than ever, Stiles was left to go stir-crazy, unable to leave his house and worried about Derek doing something stupid. Like starting an Alpha death match in the town square. Or killing an Argent, which would no doubt result in a bloody hunt.

_Tonight_ , he decided one day. Melissa was letting her guard down, and had let him venture downstairs. The scratches were little more than itchy scabs, and he had even managed to convince Melissa that he didn’t need the bitter herbal concoction she had been forcing him to drink. That night he would sneak out of the town. How, exactly, he would get past the guards watching the break in the wall, he didn’t know. His plan was to make a plan as was needed.

 That night, however, an unexpected visitor put a stop to his poorly-thought-out escape attempt.

 As Stiles was slipping into some dark clothing, there was a rustling and the soft thump of feet landing on the wooden floor. He jerked around, staring wide-eyed at the shadowed figure that had just come in through his window. He was terrified at first, thinking it was the werewolf that had attacked him, there to finish the job.

 Then the person moved, enough that the moonlight shifted across his face, illuminating dark hair and a familiar grin.

“You look much better,” Peter said, before crossing the room and pulling the boy into an unexpected kiss.


	9. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I got this one done sooner than I expected! Which is surprising, considering it has also turned out to be a lot longer than I intended - I blame Peter!
> 
> Oh, and I should probably mention that this chapter is definitely delving into dubcon territory, possibly even into a bit of a dubcon/noncon gray area, but that might just be because Peter is a creep. 
> 
> So, yeah. Warning delivered, enjoy the chapter!

Stiles’ sound of protest was muffled by Peter’s lips. He tried to pull away, but a hand at the back of his head, and another at the base of his spine, held him firmly in place. His struggles were more out of surprise, however, and he kissed back almost instinctively, opening his mouth enough for Peter’s tongue to dart inside. It took about a minute, and the hand on his back slipping down to squeeze his ass, for him to remember that he hated Peter.

 He pushed against the older man with all his strength; when he wasn't released right away, Stiles bit down. Peter hissed, and shoved him away. “What was that for?” he demanded, his voice an angry whisper.

 Stiles backed away a few steps, glaring. “What do you want?” he demanded.

 “I wanted to see you,” Peter said, head tilting in confusion. “I heard you were attacked.”

 Stiles didn’t buy his act. “And, what, you actually care?”

 “Oh course I care.” Peter frowned. “Did you think I wouldn’t, just because we had a little fight?”

 Stiles grimaced. _Really?_ he thought. “You’ve been purposely ignoring me for months.”

 “Stiles.” Peter’s tone was placating; he took a few steps forward, stopping when Stiles matched each of them with one of his own, in the opposite direction. “Come on, I’m sorry. You know I can be insensitive sometimes.”

 “Oh, really, three months later, you’re suddenly sorry?” Stiles’ tone was scathing. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

 Peter closed the distance between them faster than Stiles could blink. Or rather, _as_ fast. Then, in another blink, he was being maneuvered towards the bed. He let out a yelp as he was pushed down onto the mattress; Peter sat next to him and took one of Stiles’ hands between his two.

 “Really, I’m sorry,” he said, and actually managed to sound half-sincere. “I’ve had . . . stuff on my mind.”

 “For three months?” Stiles repeated, not willing to drop that particular point. He snatched his hand back, infuriated by Peter’s smile, and the softness in his tone. It was the tone he always used after a fight, and it was usually enough to get Stiles to forgive him. Not this time, though, Stiles decided. He was _not_ giving in.

 “It’s . . . it’s personal.” Stiles snorted, but Peter went on. “It has to do with my family, okay? With before I came here.” _That_ interested him, since Peter never spoke about his past. He didn’t let his interest show, however; just stared back with a cold expectance. Peter sighed. “They were murdered. That night, when we had our fight? It was the day they died.”

 Whatever resolve Stiles had to not react, to remain detached, shattered, and when Peter’s fingers weaved their way through his, he didn’t pull back. “I’m sorry,” Peter said again, and suddenly it seemed like he actually meant it. “I shouldn’t have acted like that, and I felt so bad afterwards. I wanted to wait for you to come to me, but then this happened . . .” Peter’s voice trailed off as he traced one of Stiles’ scars through his shirt. It ached, just like when the moonlight had touched it; he resisted the urge to pull away.

 “Is that why you came here?” Stiles asked.

 Peter nodded. “I didn’t have anyone left, or anything left to do but try to start a new life.”

 “You’re still an asshole, you know that, right?” Stiles said quietly, but there wasn’t any anger left to put behind the words.

 Peter’s blue eyes met his, and they stayed like that, staring silently for a few tense, uncertain moments. One of his hands was still holding Stiles’, while the other was resting on his freshly-aching chest. It drifted upwards slowly, brushing his cheek before tangling gently in his hair.

 He let Peter pull him forward, into another kiss, which he returned somewhat hesitantly. Even with his anger at the older man abated, doing this with him didn’t feel right, not like it used to. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Something . . . that would have to wait, because Peter was pulling away.

 Stiles felt a tug on his shirt; he lifted his arms, still a little reluctant, and let Peter pull it off. He watched the blue eyes scan over the half-scars, some still not completely healed, and felt less than comfortable when a crooked smile followed.

 “What?” he asked, feeling unpleasantly exposed for some reason.

 Peter didn’t answer right away, instead spreading his fingers wide so he could line them up with the claw marks. He ran them down from his collarbone, all the way to where they ended, at his waist. The scars prickled uncomfortably; Stiles shot a hand out and grabbed Peter’s wrist.

 “Sorry,” Peter said distractedly, eyes lingering on the red lines. Then he met Stiles’ eyes again and smirked. “But they look _good._ ”

 Stiles’ brows shot up. “Good? They look like I was nearly gutted by a werewolf.”

 “ _Exactly,_ ” Peter said. “You were attacked by an _Alpha,_ Stiles, but you survived. Do you not realize how sexy that makes you?”

 “Um.” Stiles hadn’t really thought about it that way, and he didn’t get a chance to think about much else, because he was being pushed onto his back and Peter was standing. The blue eyes looked down at him — his scars, again, not his face — as eager fingers tugged at his pants. When Stiles didn’t move to help, Peter simply lifted his hips himself.

 Stiles shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold, thinking about how that werewolf had stood over him, claws pressed into his skin. He shook the thought away. This was Peter, not a werewolf. Peter who was stripping his shirt off; Stiles followed it as it slid up and over his torso. He looked as good as ever, and Stiles felt an urge to reach up and touch. But it was a shadow of the desire he would have felt a few months ago, and he resisted it.

 “What’s wrong?” Peter asked, eyebrow raising as he noticed Stiles’ lack of interest.

 “I’m not sure.” And it was true. He had no idea why he was lying passively on the bed, rather than desperately grinding up against Peter.

 “Well, let’s fix that,” Peter said, undeterred. Long fingers curled around Stiles’ semi-disinterested length, which perked up lazily at his touch. “You’re probably traumatized after what happened.” Stiles wasn’t sure he would call it that; sure, he was afraid of running into the Alpha again, but he wasn’t curled up in bed sobbing uncontrollably.

 Peter was watching him as he worked, and Stiles suddenly felt the need to say something. To make this less awkwardly one-sided. “So, um, are you going to make it all better?” he asked, and then cringed. He had made better attempts at flirting back when he was an infatuated virgin, spending as much time around Peter as he could without outright stalking him.

 Peter didn’t comment, simply grinned and dropped forward. His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Stiles’ shoulders, and he urged the boy to move up the bed with a nudge from one of his knees. Stiles slid his way up, and shifted around until his head found a pillow. Peter followed him, grinning, staying above him the whole way. At one point, he started to trail his fingers along the aching scars again; Stiles snapped at him, not finding it anywhere near as arousing as Peter obviously did. The scratches were sensitive, damn it, and not in a good way.

 “Sorry,” the older man said, leaning down for a quick kiss, and Stiles immediately felt sorry for his outburst.

 “Just stop touching them,” he said more gently, words somewhat muffled. Peter’s head moved in what may have been a nod. The movement made their noses bump together, and they both let out small chuckles. Stiles slid a hand around the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him down. Instead of kissing, though, he bit down on Peter’s bottom lip. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to get a sharp hiss out of him.

 “That is for the last few months,” he told Peter’s glare. Peter's interest in his scars had rekindled some residual anger, and he wasn’t above taking it out on its source, not when he was within reach.

 “Stiles,” Peter sighed, an indescribable look in his eyes. “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.”

 “That’s my name.” He tried to pull Peter back down, but the older man’s hands were suddenly on his wrists, pulling them up to pin above his head. He only needed one hand to hold them in place, and the other went down to Stiles’ face. Two fingers pressed at his lips insistently, until Stiles opened his mouth and let them slip inside.

 He figured out fairly quickly what Peter intended and ran his tongue along the digits, coating them in spit. It was odd, but he went with it; he was getting used to new things lately. Two fingers weren’t at all hard to accommodate, not after . . .

 He thought of Derek and froze. He wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t get a chance to ponder it, because Peter’s fingers were suddenly gone. And then they weren’t. Stiles’ whole body jerked up as they entered him; somehow, it was a surprise, though he had been expecting it.

 “Wait — ” he began, cutting off when two more fingers pushed in. He squirmed uncomfortably; Peter ducked his head down next to his ear and whispered, “Shhh. Just relax. You’re too tense.”

He was right. It made him think of the first time they’d had sex. He’d been tense then, too, worrying more about doing everything _just right_ then about actually enjoying anything. Peter had said almost the same thing then, and like that first time, he made himself relax. Or tried to. He was confused and a little embarrassed by his less-than-positive reactions. It was just four fingers after all. It was nothing.

 Peter pulled out, and lifted one of Stiles’ legs. Quickly freeing his own cock, he lined the head up with the boy’s entrance. “Wait!” Stiles had a small, internal panic attack as Peter started to push in. He wasn’t ready; he was far from it, and the way Peter was pressing down on him was almost suffocating. Next thing he knew, his head was throbbing and Peter let out a furious growl.

 He realized belatedly that he had head-butted him.

 “Sorry! Sorry, I just, um . . . I’m not . . . just a second.” He was babbling, but Peter seemed to understand. He sat up, releasing Stiles’ wrists, and waiting while the boy took a few shaky breaths. He looked amused.

 “Feel better?” he asked once Stiles had calmed down, and had started to blush, even more embarrassed than before. Stiles gave a small nod, and made a point to look anywhere but Peter’s face. Strong hands gripped the tops of his thighs and he let out a pathetic whimper as he was pulled forward, and his legs draped over Peter’s folded ones. “Relax, or you’re not going to enjoy this very much.”

 “Give me a second!” Stiles snapped. With Peter’s weight gone, he didn’t feel as tense, but he was still quivering in a not-so-good way. Being told to relax was the best way to ensure he didn’t. Peter gave an exasperated sigh, and waited in a manner that implied he was performing some huge favor. He ran his fingers lightly over Stiles’ slightly drooping length and looked bored.

 “Ready?” Peter asked once Stiles’ breathing had returned to normal. _Not really,_ was Stiles’ first thought, but the whole situation was becoming almost painfully awkward, so he looked up at Peter and gave a quiet, “Yep.”

 Peter didn’t waste any time, lining himself up and pulling Stiles forward onto his length. The first few thrusts were far from comfortable; Stiles flinched at the unpleasant burn, but did his best to ignore it, focusing instead on opening up for Peter. And then finally, he felt the first spark of pleasure.

 After that, if was almost like any other time with Peter. Almost, because while his cock was hard and dripping, and while he was letting out little gasps of pleasure, he felt oddly detached. He watched Peter, watched the muscles ripple under his skin as he shifted Stiles’ hips. The sight made him moan, but at the same time he noticed how that there was a crack on the ceiling that looked like the letter C, and a stain that resembled a slightly lopsided rabbit.

 It was like being split into two people: one that was being fucked, and making all the appropriate reactions and sounds, and another who was observing with a vague interest. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on what Peter was doing, but his disinterested half made up for that by bringing up an image of Derek, all stubble and frowning eyebrows. And for a few seconds the two Stiles’s combined, and it was _Derek_ thrusting into him, and Derek’s fingers leaving bruises on his hips.

  _Shitshitshit._ His eyes snapped open and he felt a wave of guilt the second he saw Peter, mouth opened slightly with one corner curling upwards when he saw Stiles watching. At least, the Stiles that was moaning and desperately stroking himself did. Disinterested Stiles just felt disappointed when he met blue eyes instead of green-brown.

 “What do you think it would be like with a werewolf?” Peter asked suddenly.

 “What?” Stiles asked.

 “This. Sex.”

 He thought about Derek again and imagined the Alpha behind him, pounding into him with all his werewolf strength. He blinked it away when he was hit by a wave of guilt. He shouldn’t be thinking about Derek, not now.

 “I . . . I don’t know,” he answered, cringing under Peter’s gaze, irrationally worried that his mental slip had been somehow visible. “They’re strong, so . . .”

 Stiles yelped as Peter’s nails dug into his skin, and he pulled them together so hard their skin _snapped_ sharply. “Like . . . this?” Peter asked, punctuating each word with another almost-painful thrust. Stiles nodded wordlessly, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle the cries he could feel bubbling up in his throat.

 Peter paused long enough to lift Stiles’ legs up on his shoulders, freeing his hands. It made for shallower thrusts, but they were in no way weaker. There was the occasional flash of pain as Peter leaned forward, nearly bending him in half, but his attention was no longer split. He didn’t complain, not about that, but he did protest when Peter drew his arms over his head again. He didn’t want his family hearing the sounds he was making, and he was no longer able to hold them in.

 Peter made up for it by pressing his free hand to Stiles’ mouth, muffling his half-screams for him. “I wish we were outside,” he said, sounding amazingly not exhausted for the effort he was making: not only holding himself up, but snapping his hips forward so hard Stiles could feel the reverberations in his chest. “Then I could hear you make all those pretty sounds. What do you think? How does sex in the forest sound?”

 

Stiles’ remembered sitting on Derek’s lap in front of the cave . . . _Stop it!_ he told himself . . . the way the Alpha had lifted him with ease . . . _Peter, damn it! Not Derek. Peter! . ._. before dropping him down on his length.

 He came despite the fresh guilt, spattering his own chest, all the way up to his neck.

 Derek — no, _Peter._ Peter released his wrists and pressed down on his mouth harder. As he gave one final, piercing thrust, he raked his nails down Stiles’ chest, right over the scars.

 Stiles screamed into his hand, pleasure replaced in an instant by fiery pain.

 He thrashed against Peter, trying to push him off. To get him _out._ His fists didn’t seem to do much more than annoy Peter, who chuckled as he leaned down and bit into his neck.

 Stiles screamed again and kept screaming until Peter let out a sigh and clamped a hand over his throat, cutting off his air. “That is very annoying,” Peter said as he watched Stiles gasp for breath. He allowed desperate hands to claw bloody lines down his arm without so much as a twitch, waiting until Stiles was almost at the point on passing out, his movements growing weak until his fingers were barely holding on **.** “Are you done now?”

 Stiles glared, but nodded. Peter released him and slipped out of him, letting his legs flop down as he gasped for breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stiles rasped, massaging his throat.

 “More things than you could possibly imagine,” Peter answered as he tucked himself back into his pants and pulled his shirt on. “Have a nice night.”

 He disappeared out the window while Stiles was still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

 ~~

 Scott knew.

 Stiles could see it on his face the next morning. He wasn’t sure how much he knew, but his brother had an odd look on his face as he stepped into the room.

 “Mom gave me the okay to move back in,” Scott said, frowning at Stiles as though trying to figure out what he was smelling. It had to be smell. The newly-inflamed scratches were covered by a shirt, and Isaac’s scarf hid the swollen bite on his neck. It couldn’t have been his very-pronounced limp, either, because he was sitting down, pulling on his shoes. “Did you have sex last night?”

 “Let’s just skip over all the awkward questions,” Stiles muttered, straightening his stiff back with a groan.

 “It wasn’t with Derek, either,” Scott added. “You smell . . . weird.”

 “Care to elaborate?” Stiles growled, standing with just a bit of difficulty.

 “Like you and Derek, plus someone else.” Scott’s eyes lit up. “You had a threesome with Isaac!”

 “Oh, _God,_ no! With Peter.” How had he even come to that conclusion?

 “You had a threesome with Peter?!” Scott whispered, eyes wide. “You told him about Derek?”

 “What — ? No!” Stiles cried, more horrified by that idea than the idea of a threesome with Isaac. “I had sex with Peter. Just. Peter.”

 “Oh.” Scott glanced over his shoulder, like he was afraid Melissa or the Sheriff was listening. “I thought you were done with Peter?”

 “I definitely am after last night,” Stiles said. He tried to limp past Scott, but his brother stopped him. His eyes were narrowed in an expression of un-Scott-like seriousness.

 “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

Stiles saw no reason to make a big deal out of it. “No,” he said, not wanting to worry his brother.

But Scott must have heard the lie, because his eyes flashed gold. Before Stiles could stop him, he was yanking off the scarf and pushing up his shirt. The scars ached.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles snapped angrily, stepping out of Scott’s reach. “It got a little rough.”

His brother’s expression turned to one of confusion and worry. Exactly what he had hoped to avoid. “Why did you have sex with him if he does this to you? _Derek_ has never hurt you like this, and he’s a _werewolf_.”

“It’s not like I was expecting him to bite me, brother.” Stiles sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what he was thinking last night.”

“What were _you_ thinking?”

“What?”

“You’re with Derek. Why . . .?”

It was Stiles’ turn to be confused, until he thought about it from Scott’s perspective. “Me and Derek aren’t like you and Allison. We’re not a couple.”

“So, you don’t think he’ll mind?”

Stiles shrugged. “Why would he?”

Scott frowned. “I don’t know. Just . . . the two scents are clashing, somehow. I don’t like it.”

“Then stop smelling and tell me about the patrols’ new schedule.”

~~

The patrols, though somewhat more competent and alert, were not Stiles’ main concern as he put the previous night’s plan into action that night. With some advice from Scott, he was able to sneak his way through the town and out through the break with little difficulty.

No, his main concern was Scott, and whether or not he was going to do anything stupid while he was gone. Like maul Peter to death. Stiles wouldn’t object to Scott maybe _maiming_ him a little, but he doubted his brother had that level of control yet. Scott had been sniffing at him anxiously all day and brought up the topic of Peter just before Stiles left.

“Are you worried about him coming back?” he asked, stopping Stiles just as he was about to sneak out the window.

“No.” It wasn’t entirely true. He had considered the possibility, but it wasn’t something he was going to dwell on. “And if he does, you’re here now.”

“What about when I’m not around?” Scott insisted, not releasing his grip.

Stiles’ arm was going numb. “You mean, what if he’s hiding somewhere nearby, waiting until I’m alone?”

“Exactly!”

“One, Peter can be an asshole; I’ve never known him to be a stalker. Two, if he tries anything, I’ll just punch him in the face.”

“Oh, you mean like you did last night?”

Stiles glared. “I was unprepared last night. If I’d known he was going to start biting me and obsessing over my scars, then yes, I would have punched him.” He tried to pull away. “Can I go now?”

Scott still looked worried. “Just . . . be careful.”

“Brother, if I can survive an Alpha attack, I can definitely handle Peter.”

And thus, Stiles’ other concern as he made his way towards the forest. The Alpha. He must have glanced over his shoulder a few dozen times before he reached the trees, and though he didn’t see anything, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

As it turned out, he _was_ being watched. Just by a different Alpha.

The first thing he saw was a pair of glowing, red eyes. Then a dark shape was stepping out of the trees and grabbing his shoulder.

Stiles let out a rather embarrassing shriek.

“It’s me,” Derek growled, eyes dimming down to their usual green-brown.

 “Don’t _do_ that!” Stiles snapped, heart still pounding. “Or did Scott not tell you that I was attacked by that werewolf you’re looking for? Who, by the way, is also an Alpha. Thanks for mentioning that!”

 Derek frowned. Or rather, his existing frown deepened. “I did tell you. That first night we met.”

 " _No,_ you asked about a black wolf that looked like you.”

 “I thought that implied he was also an Alpha.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think it did. Or I wouldn’t have been quite so surprised when I was attacked by a _demon wolf_.”

Derek snorted. “A demon wolf?”

“He was bigger than _you_. Do you know how big that is?” Stiles stretched his arms out as far as they would go. “Really fucking big.”

“Sorry.”

Stiles had been prepared to continue the argument for at least another few minutes. He was left instead with his mouth half-open in surprise. “What?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t gone after him. I would have tried harder to kill him if I thought he was going to attack you.”

“That is strangely sweet,” Stiles said. He reached out and patted Derek’s arm awkwardly. “Thanks. It’s a . . . lovely thought. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Derek didn’t comment on that, which was worrying. “Are you okay?” he asked instead, crossing his arms.

It was kind of cute how he was trying to be tough and concerned at the same time. Stiles fought back a chuckle. “Alive and still human. I do have these things now.” He pulled up his shirt; he couldn’t make out the scars, but he knew Derek could.

The Alpha ran a finger along one of the ragged lines, and it started aching. “Don’t do that,” Stiles said, jerking his shirt back down. He shivered, thinking of Peter. “It feels weird.”

“They were deep,” Derek said, eyes flashing red. “They’ll do that for a while, whenever a werewolf touches them.”

“That’s inconvenient.”

“Why is that?” the werewolf asked, but it was clear from his tone that he knew where Stiles was going with his comment.

“It limits what we can do.” Stiles started backing away, grinning. “It’s a shame. I wanted to try out last month’s position again.”

Derek stalked after him, and he thought he saw him smile. “We’ll just have to get creative.”

“What did you have in mind?”

He was suddenly being lifted, Derek’s hands sliding under his ass as he pushed the human against a tree. Stiles wrapped his legs around his waist and darted his head forward to nip at the Alpha’s bottom lip. Derek growled, chasing after his mouth, while somehow managing to hold their chests apart.  

_This could work,_ Stiles thought, grabbing Derek’s hair and pulling his head back. He deepened the kiss, their tongues sliding against one another. The scars tingled, but it was nothing that couldn’t be ignored . . . _Whenever a werewolf touches them._

Stiles froze, mind whirling as he repeated the words to himself. _But Peter . . . there’s no way._ Unaware of Stiles’ horrifying realization, Derek started kissing his way down the boy’s neck — the unbitten side— pulling away Isaac’s scarf when it interfered. Stubble scratched at the sensitive skin, but Stiles barely noticed.

Peter couldn’t be a werewolf . . . _He’s always biting, though, and how many times have you actually faced one another during sex?_ It was a ridiculous thought; he would have noticed . . . _Would you? He was your first; what did you have to compare him to until Derek?_ Then he would have noticed after Derek . . . _You did notice differences, but they were little things. Individual things, and you assumed they were because Derek was a werewolf._ How could he possibly be so stupid? _  
_

“Shit,” Stiles whispered. He didn’t notice when Derek stopped moving, and was too busy getting over the realization that Peter was a werewolf to worry when Derek inhaled against his shoulder. Then he was falling; he almost didn’t catch himself, and managed to hit his elbow against the tree.

He looked up, not understanding why Derek had dropped him. Or why the Alpha’s eyes were glowing. “Derek?”

“ _You had sex with Peter?!”_ the Alpha snarled.

The idea was still so new, and that name such a shock coming out of Derek’s mouth; Stiles was at a loss for words, even as he realized what conclusions the distrustful werewolf must be coming to.

He was pushed back against the tree, Derek claws pressed against his throat. “I didn’t know!” Stiles gasped. “I didn’t! I’m sorry! I only figured it out because of what you said about the scars.” He didn’t try to push the werewolf away; it would probably make him angrier. He squeezed his eyes shut, and hoped Derek would think to listen for any lying before ripping his throat out.

“Peter is the one you were talking about.” It wasn’t a question. “How long have you known him?”

“More than a year. He just showed up outside the town one day. He crossed the circle without any problems. There was no reason to think he was anything but human.”

Derek shoved him away, sending him stumbling back. “I guess that explains the stamina.”

Stiles started to laugh weakly, but Derek’s glare made the sound die in his throat.

”Would you have told me?” Derek asked quietly. “If you had found out who he was before tonight?”

“Yes!” Stiles said automatically, and immediately wished he’d thought about the answer first. He didn’t need to hear his own heartbeat to know that that wasn’t entirely true. Peter turning out to be a psychotic Alpha didn’t erase their time together, when he’d been just another human with an occasional bad temper. Four months ago, he would have done anything to protect Peter; even now, he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t care about him **,** not when it had taken so little for the man to get Stiles into bed last night. Being with Peter was instinctive, if nothing else, and even now a part of him was trying to find a logical explanation for why Peter _wasn’t_ a werewolf. “I’m not sure.”

Derek didn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes dimmed, and the two of them stood in silence. _I should say something,_ Stiles thought, but he didn’t know what. He could almost hear the bad ideas going through Derek’s mind, and he grew more nervous the longer the werewolf remained in contemplation.

Then Derek’s eyes flashed again, and it was too late to say anything. Stiles somehow knew that whatever decision had been made, it was final. “Stay out of the town tonight,” was all the Alpha said.

“Derek, what are you — ” The Alpha was already shifting, dropping down to all fours. “Derek, no! You can’t go in after him!” But the black wolf was gone, already racing towards the distant town wall, too fast for Stiles to have any hope of stopping him.

“Shit! Stupid, stubborn werewolf.” He kicked a tree branch, then raced after the Alpha as fast as his skinny, human legs could carry him.

 

 


	10. Bolts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the delay! The plot decided it wanted to go in a slightly different direction from what I had originally intended, but the story and I have finally come to a compromise that works for both of us. I hope you all enjoy this very belated chapter.
> 
> As always, thanks for kudos and comments and reading!

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting upon reaching the town. Screaming, shouting, perhaps the sound of two Alphas tearing each other to pieces. After all, how long could it take Derek to find Peter, with his nose?

It was quiet as Stiles slipped through the hole in the wall, but it didn’t make him any less worried. Frantic was a good way to describe how he ran down the dark streets and ducked into alleys, searching for Derek. Or Peter. He didn’t care which one he found first, as long as he did it before the other Alpha.

There was no sign of either of them, not that he could see, but there also was nothing to indicate they had found one another. Stiles made his way to Peter’s house, not knowing what else to do. It was dark, the door locked. Stiles knocked and called Peter’s name as loudly as he dared. Nothing. He thought he saw a flash of red when he turned to leave, but chasing after the werewolf proved futile. It was impossible to tell which of the two it was, or if he'd even really seen the Alpha eyes. Desperate as he was to find them, Stiles' mind could very well have been playing tricks on him.

“Derek?” Stiles asked quietly, squinting into the dark. “Peter?”

If either of them was close enough to hear, they chose not to respond.

So Stiles sought out a werewolf that was easier to find.

Scott was asleep when Stiles slipped into their room. It took a bit of rough shoulder-shaking, but eventually his brother woke, eyes flashing gold for an instant. “Stiles?”

“I need your help.”

Scott sat up, yawning. “With what?”

“Peter is a werewolf, Derek is in the town, and we need to find them before they find and kill each other.”

Scott might have blinked. “Peter’s a werewolf ?” There were a few seconds of silence. “He’s the other Alpha.” Stiles heard the change in Scott's tone, and had already started cringing before his brother exploded: “That son of a bitch! He almost killed you, and then he — I’m going to _help_ Derek rip his throat out.”

Stiles shushed his brother. “That’s not — ”

“Are you _defending_ him?” Scott was growing increasingly loud. “The Sheriff was right about him. He should be —  

“ _Scott!_ ” Stiles slapped both hands down on his brother’s shoulders. “You and Derek can do what you want to him, just _not_ _here._ This can’t happen in the town. We can’t risk people getting hurt, or the Argents finding out about you.” Mentioning the hunters seemed to make Scott pause; his shoulders relaxed. “I need you to sniff them out — either of them.”

“You think you can talk them out of killing each other?” Scott asked, understandably skeptical.

“No, but I think I can convince Derek to wait. Or at the very least, I can tell Peter to run.”

"You don't have much of a plan."

"I rarely do. That's why I improvise."

Scott sighed. “I’m not that good at this scent thing yet.”

“I thought you were getting better.”

“Yeah, but — ”

“Please, just try.”

Scott gave a small nod. “Lean down.”

Stiles did, and had to bite back a giggle when Scott sniffed at his neck. Not only did it tickle, but it was awkward, having his brother’s face pressed to his neck. _I need to spend less time around werewolves,_ he thought, pulling away quickly once Scott was done. The Beta walked to the window, and jumped out. There was a _thud_ ; Stiles made his way out more slowly.

“Can you smell them?” Stiles asked once he was standing beside his brother.

“Yeah . . .” He didn’t sound particularly confident. “I think.”

Scott led the way through the dark town, pausing to sniff the air occasionally, and doubling back several times after realizing he’d made a wrong turn. It was a slow, frustrating process for both of them, and Stiles kept his impatience to himself. Pressuring Scott wasn’t going to suddenly improve his ability to track scents.

Several minutes into the search, Scott brought them both to a halt. He didn’t say anything, not until an impatient Stiles cleared his throat loudly. “I think I smell blood,” the werewolf said, frowning upwards as he inhaled. “And Derek. Maybe.”

“Where?”

A scream rang through the town. Both boys jumped, and Scott took off without a word. He was gone before a single sound could escape Stiles’ gaping mouth. “Fine then,” Stiles grumbled quietly. “Just abandon me. I’ll be fine.” He glanced around, simultaneously hopeful and terrified of spotting a pair of red eyes.

When his brother didn’t return, Stiles proceeded to meander down the street. “Derek?” he called softly. “Deeerek . . . Show your sexy werewolf ass. _Deee-reeek._ Hellooo?”

“Shut up!” A hand was suddenly curling over his mouth, and Stiles let out a fearful squeak as he was yanked backwards into an alley and pushed against a cold wall. A warm body pressed against his back. “Are you trying to lead Peter right to you?”

“Derek!” The name was muffled by the werewolf’s hand, which showed no signs of moving. “Let go,” he mumbled, but the pressure on his mouth only increased. Struggling resulted in one of his arms being maneuvered and trapped behind his back. He tried to wriggle his way to freedom, and in the process shoved his hips backward into Derek’s. The Alpha inhaled just a little more sharply than before; Stiles grinned into his palm and did it again.

“Would you stop that?”

“Let go,” he repeated, and pushed back a few more times before Derek pulled away with a growl. Stiles rolled his shoulder and met the Alpha’s surprisingly human glare. “What are you doing here, idiot?”

“Leave. Nothing you say is going to stop me from killing Peter.”

“You can’t go after him here!”

“Leave now and I’ll consider giving him a quick death.”

“What — ? Wait, you think I’m trying to _protect_ him?!”

“Aren’t you?” Derek asked quietly. “I'm told he can be quite charming. You wouldn't be the first to have a horribly misguided attraction towards him.”

“He tried to _kill_ me. And came fairly close to succeeding. So, you two can go ahead and maul each other to death. Just. Not. Here. People could get hurt, and you two are definitely going to get hurt.”

Derek regarded him with that infuriatingly unreadable expression of his. “We’re going to get hurt anyway.” Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pushed him away, gently. “Go. You don’t want to be anywhere near — ”

He was interrupted by a second scream, which was followed a few seconds later by two more, overlapping. Derek’s eyes flashed as voices were raised in shouts, and the sounds of people waking broke the town’s usual nighttime stillness. Stiles gripped one of the Alpha’s arms, his fingers just barely managing to wrap completely around the bulging muscles. “You’re an idiot,” he said when the werewolf looked at him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Derek snorted. “You mean _you_ don’t want to be out of _my_ sight.”

“Yes, fine, I’d rather Peter doesn’t finish what he started. _But._ I also don’t want to see you shot full of arrows.”

“I have been hunting him for over two years.” Derek looked away, towards the source of the rising voices. His expression didn’t change in any physical sense, but there was a pain there that hadn’t been there before. “He killed my sister.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say to that. He felt the urge to comfort the brooding werewolf, but doing so wasn’t really his strong suit. Anything he could think of to say would just sound trite. So he stayed silent, instead leaning into Derek in a way that he hoped came across as comforting. Neither of them said anything for a while; Stiles tried not to fidget, to be considerate of Derek’s little moment of silence, but soon enough the need to speak grew too great to ignore. “A waste of two years if an Argent kills you before you can even scratch him.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what reaction that was going to produce: he figured there was as much chance of agreement as there was of being shoved back into the wall. So Stiles couldn’t complain when Derek merely huffed neutrally.

The corners of Stiles' mouth moved in the beginnings of a small smile. It seemed like reasoning with Derek wasn’t such an unrealistic goal. He started to think that this night wouldn’t end disastrously after all . . .

That was before an arrow hit the wall behind him.

Stiles was oblivious to the danger until a few seconds after the deadly projectile flew past his head, close enough to cut his ear. Derek must have noticed; he started tensing even before the arrow whistled through the air, and jerked both himself and Stiles out of the way in time to avoid it. His eyes were glowing, face shifting, claws and teeth lengthening; Stiles had only just reached up to feel his ear, which hadn’t even started stinging yet.

More arrows were soon being fired, and Stiles found himself being flung aside, out of the way. He barely noticed the impact with the ground, because an arrow had suddenly sprouted from the werewolf’s right thigh. The resulting roar snapped him out of his shock; he looked up, and could just barely make out the shapes of the archers, firing from the safety of roofs and balconies.

“Wait!” he shouted, standing as fast as he could. Not fast enough to do anything, not that there was anything to be done. Derek caught one arrow, just inches from one of his glowing eyes, and ripped the first one out of his leg with a snarl. But two more quickly followed it, one leaving a deep gash on Derek’s shoulder as it flashed by, while the second hit its mark, piercing his upper left arm. It went deep enough that the tip managed to come out the other side. Derek broke the end off without bothering to try and remove it.

It all happened so fast, Stiles had little time to do anything but feel nauseated and terrified when a fifth arrow embedded itself in the werewolf’s chest.

Derek looked down, the surprise and pain visible even through his transformed, feral features. One of his hands rose, reaching for the shaft, as he stumbled back. His back hit the wall with a soft _thump_. His eyes flickered. Stiles started to stand, heart beating painfully as the Alpha red seemed to die for a few seconds.

Then the fiery glow returned, and Derek pulled the arrow out with a cry that was halfway between human and a howl.

Clawed fingers wrapped around Stiles’ arm and pulled him forward; he stumbled as he tried to match Derek’s speed. The werewolf was fast, but the fact that Stiles _was_ keeping up told him that Derek was holding back for his benefit. It meant he was slower than he needed to be right then; Stiles tried to pull free, but the powerful grip only tightened.

“Let go!” Stiles shouted; his arm strained in its socket. It felt like Derek’s claws might be digging into his wrist. “You have to get out of here!

The only answer he received was a growl accompanied by a sharp tug. Something wet ran down his arm.

They ran, making sharp turns and avoiding arrows, until Derek ran into a door. Or rather, through it. Derek hardly slowed as the wood splintered around them; Stiles was temporarily blinded as he jerked his face to the side, raising his free hand to shield his eyes. There was a surprised to shout, followed by the _thud_ of something heavy hitting the floor.

When Stiles opened his eyes, Derek was standing stiffly, eyes closed and nostrils flaring. There was a dark shape at his feet, that Stiles was fairly sure was a body.

“Did you kill him?” Stiles hissed.

Derek’s claws pulled free of his arm. Stiles pressed down on the punctures, hoping they weren’t too deep, as the werewolf knelt down and proceeded to pry up two floorboards. He tilted his head, regarding the hole he’d made with glowing eyes, before grabbing the hem of Stiles’ shirt and yanking him forward. The boy let out a surprised shout as he was shoved into the small space. Derek lowered himself in next, twisting awkwardly to shift the floorboards back over them, until they were lying pressed together, hidden. Derek’s eyes were the only light, until they blinked and the darkness became complete.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. His wrist ached and the werewolf’s weight pressing down on him wasn’t helping to make the situation any less claustrophobic. Derek’s breathing was concerningly labored; his breath was hot against Stiles’ shoulder as he said, “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“Kill him. I didn’t . . . kill him.”

Stiles blinked. “Okay.”

“Could you . . . ”

The last bit was too quiet to hear, even with Derek right next to his ear. The werewolf seemed to grow heavier, and when Stiles’ second “What?” went unanswered, he realized that Derek had passed out. If he hadn't still been able to feel him breathing, and his heart beating, he would have feared he was dead. With him still alive, however, Stiles allowed himself to be slightly irritated. There wasn’t much else to do, stuck under the floor with an unconscious werewolf’s weight pressing down on him.

Suffocating to death hadn’t been part of the plan when he’d run after the Alpha, (not that he’d had much of a plan) but it could have turned out worse, he supposed.

A few seconds later, it did get worse. Several pairs of booted feet thumped against the floor, one pair stopping right above where Stiles and Derek’s hiding place. Dust trickled down and the human almost suffocated in an attempt to not sneeze. He barely breathed as the hunters moved through the house, searching for Derek.

“They aren’t here,” a man said.

_They._ Stiles felt a flutter of despair. The hunters were searching for him, too.

“Then let’s get out of here,” Kate Argent’s voice replied. From right above. Stiles shrank away from the sound. He felt the same fear he’d felt when Peter had attacked; worse, in fact, because Peter had been playing with him. He doubted Kate Argent would be particularly playful if she discovered what was beneath her feet. "He couldn't have gotten far, not after taking an arrow to the chest."

She had no idea how right she was.

The hunters left, but Stiles remained in frozen silence, listening, for some time, not daring to believe that he was safe. The hunters were gone, however; when the silence stretched on, Stiles finally took a proper, deep breath, letting it out as a relieved sigh.

Derek returned, grumbling incoherently, several minutes later. To Stiles’ surprise, he almost immediately began to grind their hips together. Which would have been lovely, if they weren’t currently hiding under some stranger’s floor, bleeding all over each other and being hunted by Argents.

“Um, hate to interrupt,” Stiles said as Derek’s teeth grazed his neck, and _damn it_ he really did despise himself just a little for interrupting, “but now isn’t really the best time.” The werewolf just kept on pushing their hips together; Stiles’ cock gave the littlest of twitches, but he resisted any voluntary reactions. “Peter,” he said in a half-gasp, wishing they could magically teleport somewhere else.

Derek stiffened against him, and not in the way Stiles wanted. The werewolf was silent for a time, and then jerked away suddenly, moving his hips away from the human's as much as he could.

“Have a nice dream?” Stiles asked with a half-hearted smirk.

“I was just confused for a few seconds.” He didn’t seem to share Stiles’ amusement, and fell into a brief, brooding silence before asking, “Can you pull that arrow out now?”

It took Stiles a second to remember that the Alpha’s arm had been hit. With some difficulty, he managed to squirm his own arm out from where it had been trapped. With partially numbed fingers, he felt along the protruding shaft until he hit warm skin, then slid around to where the tip had come out the other side.

“Just push it the rest of the way through,” Derek said when the boy hesitated.

“Can we go back to poorly-timed humping?” Stiles asked. “Because I’m don't think I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s gross . . . And bloody.” Stiles shuddered; but Derek was unsympathetic: "Don't tell me you faint at the sight of blood."

"Not there's much to see right now, but no. Grievous bodily harm might make me throw up all over both of us, though."

“Think of something else,” Derek said, shifting impatiently.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Derek growled. “Think of Peter, for all I care. Just hurry up; this is painful.”

“You really don’t care?” Stiles asked, looking up to where he thought the stubbly face must be. “If I think about Peter?”

“No.”

“Really? Cause I think your heartbeat jumped a little.”

“You couldn’t possibly have heard that!”

“So it _did_ jump,” Stiles said, a sense of triumph giving him the extra bit of courage he needed to shove the arrow forward. It squelched as it slid through the meat of Derek’s arm; the Alpha snarled viciously, his whole body shuddering as Stiles grabbed the arrow just behind the tip and yanked it the rest of the way out.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Derek hissed.

Stiles let out a slightly hysterical giggle as fresh blood began to drip down on him, and his stomach churned just a little. “I guess I did a good job, then. You always say that when I do a good job. Different manner of good job, obviously but” — Derek growled — “ . . . right. Change of topic. I can do that. Backtracking a little: you totally care that I’ve been with Peter.”

 Derek continued to rumble, low and threatening. “ _I. Don’t. Care._ What you do with my uncle is not my concern.”

“Then why — ” The rest of what he would have said was lost as Derek’s words sank in. “Uncle?” he whispered.

An awkward silence fell between them. After a minute, Derek said quietly, “I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” Stiles nodded. “That’s news. Hmm, wow . . . you’re Peter’s nephew. It kind of makes sense, really.”

“What does?” Derek asked, irritation bleeding back into his voice as he got over the initial awkwardness.

“Well, the attractiveness, the bad moods, the similar taste in adolescent humans. I can see the resemblance now that I know to look for it.”

“The difference being that I haven’t killed any relatives in order to become an Alpha.”

“Well, you must have killed someone.” The fact was obvious to anyone who knew anything about werewolves, but Stiles immediately wished he hadn’t voiced it.

Derek shifted away from Stiles. “I did,” he said in a deceptively neutral tone. “There was no other way I could hope to kill Peter. I didn’t have a pack anymore, so I needed to be able to make my own.”

“Who was it?”

“Why does it matter? You wouldn’t know him.”

Stiles shrugged. “Just curious.”

“His name was Ennis," Derek answered after a brief pause. "He was one of three Alphas living near my mother’s territory.”

“None of them were willing to help you,” Stiles guessed. Why else would Derek have needed to make his own pack?

“No,” Derek confirmed. “And Ennis . . . let’s just say I didn’t like him. I didn’t plan on killing him until a few minutes before I actually did it, though,” he added quickly. “He said . . . something, and suddenly it seemed like a good idea. So I slit his throat at the first opportunity.” Derek drifted off into a prolonged silence. The need to ask him for more details, especially about his family, returned, but Stiles didn’t want to push his luck. Derek was rarely so talkative, and he would just shut down if Stiles tried to extract any more information. He already felt more closed off then before.

Pushing his curiosity away for the time being, Stiles simply said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Derek asked incredulously.

Stiles nodded. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Not being perfect is different from being a murderer,” Derek pointed out.

“Being a one-time murderer is different from being a psychopath.”

“Two-time,” Derek said quietly.

Filing yet another question away for the future, Stiles insisted, “Still better than your uncle.”

“You’re not even going to ask why I did it?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll wake up one morning and decide to kill you, too?”

“Also nope.”

“Why?”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess I trust you.” He did his best to sound disinterested; he sensed that they were dangerously close to having a mushy Scott-Allison moment, and that just didn't seem right.

Derek’s sigh was exasperated but carried a hint of softness. “You’re an idiot.”

“ _Were_ you planning of killing me?”

Derek’s lips brushed his. “No. You can trust me.” He pulled away before their closeness turned into a real kiss; they both fell silent, an odd tension surrounding them. The space was far to small for the feelings that were threatening to bubble to the surface; Stiles loudly cleared his throat. “So, is it safe to get out of here yet?”

Derek was silent; Stiles assumed he must be listening for the sounds of lurking hunters. “I don’t think so,” he said eventually. “But stay down until I say otherwise.” He pushed the floorboards out of the way, and the darkness became just a little more gray as Derek pushed himself up and out. A few seconds later he confirmed that it was safe, and Stiles followed him.

The unconscious man was still there, ignored as much by the Argents as by Derek. “Come on,” the Alpha said, reaching for Stiles, but stopping just short of his arm. “Though you might be safer here.”

“I don’t think so.” Stiles quickly grabbed _his_ arm. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you aren’t going to do something stupid.”

“I’m not,” Derek said. Stiles’ expression made it clear that he was far from convinced, so the werewolf added, “If you think you can get Peter out of the town, then I’ll wait.”

Stiles shrugged. “It won’t be hard. I’ll just go to the Argents and — ”

“Listen to you two, scheming.” As if speaking about him had summoned him, Peter appeared in the broken doorway. Derek’s eyes lit up, and his uncle’s did the same. Stiles could just make out the shape of a smile on the older man’s face, and for some reason that terrified him more than the very likely possibility of a fight breaking out right then and there. “It’s been a while, Derek. How are you?”

Derek answered with a snarl. He pulled free of Stiles’ grip, and there was the unmistakable sound of his claws coming out.

“And you, Stiles?” Stiles jumped. Derek answered before the boy could even open his mouth, “Don’t talk to him!”

“Well, aren’t you possessive? I would like to point out that he was mine first.”

“Shut up!” Derek snapped, just as Stiles let out a sound of protest. When, exactly, had he become a possession? No one had informed _him._

“You almost _killed_ me! You don’t get to lay claim!”

“It’s not like I did it just to be sadistic,” Peter said. “It was for a good cause.”

“Oh, really? What about last night?” For the second time that night, Stiles wished he hadn’t spoken. In fact, maybe he should just stop speaking altogether, since he was obviously incapable of leaving unsaid things that were best left unacknowledged. He tensed, looking at Derek to see the werewolf's reaction to the accidental reminder: it wasn't visible, but Derek hadn't moved. Disaster could still be averted.

In contrast, Peter’s amusement was fairly clear as he let out a barking laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you that. I had a moment of weakness, but you shouldn’t be so easy. I mean, what does a guy have to do so you _won’t_ let him fuck you?”

The instant the words left his mouth, the situation became completely and utterly unsalvageable. Before Stiles could even think of something to say, a black wolf was slamming into Peter, snarling as they both fell to the dirt. Peter let out an alarmed shout, and gripped Derek on either side of his furry neck, trying to keep the werewolf’s snapping jaws away from his face.

But he didn’t transform himself.

His eyes weren’t even glowing anymore when Stiles ran after the two of them. If Stiles hadn't known better, he would have thought Peter an innocent, terrified human, about to be mauled to death by the red-eyed wolf.

_It was for a good cause._

“ _Shit!_ Derek, stop!” Stiles grabbed the first part of Derek he could reach — his bristling tail — and heaved with all his strength. The wolf yelped and turned on Stiles with a snarl, teeth snapping just short of his hands. He flinched but held on, until he was batted aside by a large paw. The boy hit the ground as three crossbow bolts embedded themselves in Derek’s left side.

The wolf collapsed and lay thrashing on the ground, dirt and dust billowing up around him as he clawed the ground. He twisted around, biting at the shafts, trying to pull them out. His high-pitched cries were more than loud enough to disguise the other werewolf’s chuckles, but Stiles could see the way Peter’s shoulders rose and fell as the hunters returned, dozens of them rushing forward, all armed in one way or another. Derek’s voice shifted as he did. More disturbing than the half-human howls were the sounds Derek’s insides made as they tried to shift around the bolts, and were shredded in the process. Once his paws were done stretching into fingers, the werewolf ripped one of the bolts out. A decent amount of _him_ came away with it, caught on the distinct barbs of one of Kate Argent’s bolts.

The huntress herself walked into view, crossbow in hand. Derek was too busy coughing up blood to notice her, until she was standing over him, smiling prettily as she aimed right at his heart. Derek froze, and for the first time since Stiles had met him, he looked completely terrified.

“Hello, Derek.” She raked her eyes up and down his body in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable, seconds away from death or not, and her teeth flashed white as her smile stretched into something menacing. “Red looks good on you.”

She gave a sharp gasp as Stiles tackled her.

Not long after they hit the ground, Kate had a knee digging into Stiles’ chest and a knife at his throat. “You’re not very smart, are you?” she asked. The end of her crossbow cracked sharply against the side of his head.


	11. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> First of all, I apologize for the ridiculously long wait. I literally hated writing this chapter, but after rewriting it over and over again, and it not getting any better, I decided to just post the damn thing.
> 
> Second, quick warning for noncon, and Peter being a total creep.
> 
> Third, I hope this chapter isn't as hard to read as it was to write.

The blow didn’t knock him out (which was nice because Stiles was getting tired of passing out) but it did stun him enough that he could do nothing as Kate stood and fired another bolt into Derek’s stomach. The werewolf didn’t make a sound, and Stiles was afraid that he was dead, until the huntress said, “You know where to take him. Be sure to pull those out _before_ you tie him; I want him alive.”

Then she was back, crouching over Stiles with a calculating look on her face. “Now, what are we going to do with you?”

Stiles was too afraid to think of a witty reply, so he remained silent. Shortly thereafter, he was being dragged to his feet; he wasn’t allowed to regain his balance before a hand gave him a hard shove. He stumbled the first few steps, and wavered unsteadily for a while after that. No one tried to restrain him and he didn’t try to run; they all knew there was nowhere for him to go. And he didn’t want to give Kate Argent the opportunity to kill him. She already looked far too satisfied with herself.

It was a look she shared with Peter, who walked beside the hunters far more comfortably than should have been natural for a werewolf. He met Stiles glare at one point, and his blue eyes twinkled in a silent reply. Things were going exactly the way he wanted; Stiles knew that much, though he wasn’t certain what the Alpha was trying to accomplish by cozying up to the hunters. 

Stiles briefly considered pointing out to Kate what she was walking beside, but he only got as far as opening his mouth before Peter’s expression shifted abruptly, into a warning that Stiles decided to heed. He didn’t doubt that his lifespan would be reduced to mere seconds if he dared reveal Peter’s true nature. He wasn’t keen on dying right then, and if that meant Kate Argent was going to get her throat slashed, then so be it. He wasn’t risking his life for the psychotic bitch.

He was led to the Argent house, and caught sight of Allison as he was herded inside. Her brown eyes were wide, but he knew there was nothing she could do. Nothing that wouldn’t bring her under suspicion, and as a result, Scott. He wanted to let her know it was okay, but he didn’t even dare look at her for more than a few seconds, much less flash her a reassuring smile.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when he found himself standing in front of Gerard Argent and Allison’s grim-faced parents. The older hunter had a small, almost Kate-like smile on his face, which Stiles very much wished wasn’t directed at him.

“So, it seems you’ve been making some rather disagreeable friends, Mr. Stilinski.”

“They agree just fine with me,” Stiles said quietly.

“So it would seem.” Gerard stepped closer, and Stiles forced himself to not cringe away. “Where are the other three?”

“No idea. Avoiding your psycho asses, if they’re smart.”

Gerard was surprisingly strong for how old he looked; Stiles doubled over, gasping, when a wrinkly fist drove into his stomach. Chris was the only one who let out any sort of protest, but he didn’t sound particularly convincing, and was ignored.

“I’m not going to bother questioning you, Mr. Stilinski. Derek is all we really need to get his pack to come to us, sooner or later. So I’m going to be honest with you: we do not tolerate conspirators, no matter their age, and you will die along with the monsters you’ve chosen to betray your own species for.”

He must have given some kind of signal, because a hunter suddenly pulled Stiles upright and dragged him out of the room. Stiles didn’t really pay attention as he was led away; he was busy wishing he had claws so he could wrap them around Peter’s throat. And Gerard’s. And Kate’s.

The hunter deposited him in a dark cell, leaving him with only a dim lantern to find his way around. Not that there was much for him to find his way around. The cell was no more than ten steps across in either direction, and part of it was taken up by a cot, which Stiles flopped down on. It was far from comfortable, but he doubted the floor would be an improvement.

Despite being exhausted from all the running and being thrown around, there was no way he was falling asleep. There was far too much going wrong all at once; there was no way to stop his mind from twisting itself into knots. Not that he wanted to. Somewhere among all the worries about Scott and Allison and Derek, and the possible, bloody scenarios playing out in his head, there could be an epiphany, if not about how to fix everything, then about how to get his friends out of that town.

_And what then?_ he wondered. Were he and Allison supposed to spend the rest of their lives in a cave with the wolves? The thought almost made him smile, and in all honestly it didn’t seem like that bad an option, compared to being stuck in — where was he anyway? The Argents’ basement? — a dungeon, waiting to be executed. The only reason he wasn’t curling up into a miserable ball of despair was that he knew Scott and Allison were safe, as long as he didn’t say anything, and Derek was alive for the time being. He tried not to think what state that living was taking place in.

With some difficulty, he blinked away the disturbing images of Derek being tortured, and tried instead to come up with an escape plan. First, he would need to get himself out of there. He thought hard, trying to imagine a good way to get through the iron bars, and . . .

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

His mind was a complete blank.

Frustrated, he hit the wall with the side of his fist before rolling over onto his side and glaring at the cell door. He wondered for a few seconds if he could slip between the bars, but that idea was quickly dashed: he had maybe a tenth of the muscle mass Derek did, but it wasn’t like he was starving. Not yet, anyway. Maybe if the Argents forgot to feed him and left him down there long enough to start wasting away, he could eventually slip his emaciated self to freedom. Not that he’d be much good at that point. And Derek would probably be dead by then, along with the rest of his pack.

He remembered the nightmare he’d had after the attack, saw again every werewolf he knew, dead. _Except Peter,_ Stiles thought. _Peter and his pretty fucking face._ Stiles shut his eyes and, lacking a pillow in which to bury his face, draped a forearm over his eyes.

What was Peter planning? He couldn’t even begin to imagine, though he was quite aware that he was missing a large amount of information. All he really knew was that Peter had used his own nephew to trick the hunters into thinking he was human. By letting Derek attack him the way he had, Peter had reaffirmed his fake humanity. But why? Why put so much effort into appearing human?

He couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation.

Stiles didn’t sleep that night, or the next day, although really he had no way of knowing how much time passed. The lantern eventually went out, marking the first few hours, and leaving him in the dark until a grim-faced man arrived with a bowl of _stuff_ that rivalled even Derek’s culinary disasters.

“Can I get another lantern?” Stiles asked, prodding the slop with the provided spoon. The man glared in response, staring the boy down silently until he took a few tentative tastes.

Stiles grimaced and held the bowl out. The guard finally spoke, growling out an “Eat!” that didn’t invite argument.

Stiles ate quickly, tasting the food (if it could be called that) as little as possible. When he was done, guard, bowl, and spoon all departed, rendering the cell dark once more. Stiles didn’t mind that so much as the boredom. He could only go over the same thoughts so many times.

The guard came again, a long time later, and Stiles ate without complaint, starving by that point, and thankful for something to do besides sitting in silent contemplation.  However, the distraction came to an end far too soon, leaving him with nothing to do but pace around the cell for a time, before flopping down on the cot with a frustrated groan.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, trying and failing to come up with answers, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up. He shut his eyes as soon as he opened them, blinded by the guard’s lantern outside his cell. How long had he been asleep?

“Have you figured it out yet?”

The voice didn’t belong to the guard.

The question was quiet, almost a whisper, but it was undoubtedly Peter’s voice. Stiles shot up, squinting until the light was lowered, revealing Peter’s smirking face.

Stiles didn’t bother questioning how Peter had gotten down there: the man had been hiding under the Argents’ noses for over a year.

“Care to enlighten me?” His voice was relatively calm, despite his sudden fear at being so close to the Alpha.

The werewolf’s fingers were wrapped loosely around the bars of the cell, and Stiles was certain that he could easily pry them aside if he chose to.

Peter chuckled, no doubt hearing the way the boy’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I’m evil, of course. I want my dear nephew to suffer and die.”

Stiles kept his eyes firmly fixed on Peter’s. “No, you don’t.”

“Of course; how could I ever hope to fool you? This is my incredibly circuitous attempt at keeping him safe.”

“I don’t think you give a shit about Derek, one way or the other,” Stiles said. “You don’t want anyone to know what you are, for some reason.”

“Of course I don’t; the Argents would try to kill me in they knew.”

“It’s more than that. You wouldn’t be living here if you were only afraid of being killed.”

“Maybe I’ve fallen madly in love with you and can’t bear to leave your side.”

Stiles snorted. He didn’t believe that for a second, and Peter’s amused look didn’t encourage him to do so. “How about you just tell me the truth. You came here to gloat, right? Well, gloat.”

The Alpha’s teeth showed as his smile stretched into a grin. “I want to kill the Argents, of course.”

“Why?”

Peter shook his head and laughed, “You can figure that out for yourself, I think.”

“I’m not fucking psychic!” Stiles snapped.

“No, but you’re smart. When you aren’t thinking with your cock, that is.”

Stiles really wanted to punch him then, but there was no way he was getting anywhere near the suddenly flimsy-looking bars. So he glared silently, until Peter gave an exasperated sigh and said, “Come on, Stiles. I’ve already given you the answer.”

“Bullshit! You haven’t given me a decent answer since we met — ”

That wasn’t exactly true, Stiles realized.

Peter had opened up to him once, though considering the circumstances, he had dismissed it as part of a trick to get in one last fuck. “You said . . . your family was murdered,” Stiles recalled uncertainly. Knowing what he did now, it was very likely that Peter and Derek had been born werewolves, meaning the same was — _had been_ — true for at least part of their family. “Was it the Argents?”

“And now he gets it,” Peter said, his tone somewhat less humorous than before. The smile was still in place, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was a very Derek-like expression, with a hint of malice that was pure Peter. “They were all burned alive, to be specific.”

Derek _had_ been looking for a burned werewolf, at first. “You and Derek survived. And his sister,” Stiles remembered.

“He and dear Laura were out hunting at the time.”

“’Dear Laura’, who you killed.”

Peter’s eyes shifted to one of the bars as he ran a finger along the metal. “It’s not easy, you know, killing five Argents. Although the same can’t be said for Allison. I could have easy slit her throat one of those nights when she was going to see your idiot friend.” One of Peter’s claws came out as he spoke, scratching softly at the bar. “I thought about it. Carving up that pretty, fair skin of hers, and leaving the pieces sitting on the Argents’ doorstep.”

Stiles grimaced as it dawned on him how sick Peter really was. “Why didn’t you?”

Peter looked up. “Kate.”

“Kate?”

“She set the fire. _She_ left me scarred for _years.”_ Metal screeched beneath Peter’s claw as his voice rose. _“_ Do you even realize what it takes to scar a werewolf? Do you know what it’s like to have the flesh melt off your bones?” Peter snarled, all trace of humor gone as his mood took a sharp turn. The bars creaked beneath the Alpha’s hands; Stiles scrambled backwards quickly. “I couldn’t let her get away with it. I wanted her to see _her_ whole family dead, before I put an end to her. The bitch needs to know how it feels. So I waited, and Derek’s arrival gave me the perfect opportunity to lure her here. I knew she couldn’t resist getting her claws into a Hale — _especially Derek_ _—_ anymore then I could wait to get mine into her.”

Peter’s eyes were glowing bright red by the end of the little speech. Stiles swallowed nervously before saying, “Like I told Derek . . . avenging your family by killing what’s left of them seems really counterproductive.”

“Someone had to do it,” Peter said, voice quieter but no less crazed. “Laura wouldn’t, so I did what I had to.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles squeaked. He pressed back against the wall as much as he could.

Peter watched the little escape attempt with a creepily blank expression before saying, “Oh, please.”

Metal groaned, and for a second, Stiles thought Peter really would tear the bars aside. It was more shocking, somehow, when he pulled out a key instead and simply unlocked the door.

“How . . . ?!”

Before he could finish the question, Peter was across the small room. His hair was grabbed roughly and he found himself being slammed face down on the cot before he could make another sound. Claws pressed into his cheek, close enough to his eye that it made him disinclined to struggle.

“What makes me so terrible, hmm? I didn’t ask to be burned half to death. I’m just trying to avenge my family.”

“You’re as crazy as Kate,” Stiles said, whimpering when a growl rumbled in Peter’s throat, but continuing anyway: “ _You killed your own niece_. The Argents think werewolves are monsters, and you’re just proving them right.”

“You think I’m a monster?”

Stiles had feared some kind of explosion, which would most likely have ended with him being mauled to death. The sudden calm with which the words were delivered was somehow worse. Peter’s hand slid from his face to his shoulder, and flipped him onto his back. Stiles shivered as red eyes flickered over him, and Peter’s lips stretched into a thin smile.

“I’ll show you . . .”

Peter’s head jerked to the side; bone crunched as his face contorted, jaw stretching unnaturally wide to accommodate a mouthful of newly-sprouted fangs. His skin rippled as his face stretched, halfway forming into a muzzle. The Alpha’s whole body jerked and shuddered; cloth tore as he grew, skin darkened by the sprouting of fur. A half-paw pressed down on Stiles’ throat, cutting of the scream that had been building there.

Peter stopped the transformation before his increasing size could shred his clothes. Even so, seams creaked in protest. His face was more wolf than human by then, and he lowered it until his teeth — each nearly as long as a human finger — were almost touching Stiles’ face.

“Why . . . do you look different?” Stiles croaked, as much in the hopes of distracting Peter from killing him as to satisfy some poorly timed curiosity.

Peter’s face shrank enough for him to articulate, though his words were still a little garbled by oversized teeth. “You mean, why don’t I turn into a regular wolf, like Derek?”

Stiles nodded as much as Peter’s paw would allow.

“One of the consequences of being a shapeshifter — any significant changes to who someone is can affect the shape one takes.”

“Basically, you’re screwed in the head, so your . . . wolf is fucked up.”

Drool ran down one of Peter’s canines and dripped onto Stiles’ cheek, warm and slimy. “Would you like me to show you ‘fucked up’?”

“No,” Stiles squeaked, really preferring to avoid any elaboration. “No need. I’m good.”

Peter’s lupine features disappeared abruptly, even his eyes blinked out, leaving a seemingly normal man. Knowing better now, Stiles found him no less terrifying, especially when one of his hands was still poised to crush his windpipe with supernatural strength. His other hand, Stiles realized with a start, was gliding its way up and down his right side.

“That was rhetorical.” Peter leaned down so his lips brushed Stiles’. “And I think I’m going to send you back to my nephew very much _fucked_.”

Fingers dug into Stiles’ hips. Stiles lashed out instinctively, leaving three scratches across Peter’s right cheek that healed before they could even bleed. Peter snarled and released Stiles’ throat, only to gather up the boy’s wrists and pin them above his head before he could even think of trying to get away.

The werewolf’s lips muffled Stiles’ cry for help. It was doubtful anyone would have heard him anyway. With his free hand, he pushed up Stiles’ shirt so he could touch the scars he’d left. Stiles barely noticed the ache; his heart pounded painfully as the muscles in his arms strained uselessly. He felt his pants being tugged at and did the only thing he could: bit down on Peter’s bottom lip.

Peter made a surprised sound, almost like a yelp, and tried to pull his head back. Stiles held on, digging his teeth in deeper. Blood flooded his mouth; he jerked his head to the side, tearing at Peter’s lip, determined to bite through it if that’s what it took. The grip on his wrists disappeared; before Peter could try to pry him off, his teeth released their grip. Peter jerked back, hand moving to his bleeding mouth. Stiles promptly drew both legs back and drove his feet into Peter’s stomach. The werewolf hit the wall with a grunt; Stiles rolled off the cot. His left knee cracked sharply against the stone floor, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet and racing towards the door . . . that was no longer open.

Stiles slammed into the bars and shook them with all his strength. They rattled but held; a glance over his shoulder showed him a shifting Peter, his face and limbs lengthening and his skin darkening slowly, as he calmly shrugged out of his clothing.

“Help!” Stiles screamed, voice echoing down the hall. If anyone heard him, they gave no indication that they intended to help him.

A familiar huffing sound sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine. He turned to face the monstrous wolf now taking up half the cell. He looked much larger in the small space than he had before. His lips were pulled back in what might have been a smile, allowing Stiles to see every one of his teeth.

A step and a half brought the werewolf right up to Stiles. Stiles managed to duck under a reaching paw — hand? It was somewhere in between — and run behind the werewolf. The creature’s size made turning in the cell a bit difficult, and Stiles wondered if he could just keep dodging out of its way until . . . Until what? Until the guard returned? He couldn’t keep that up for however long it would take him to get here.

It was a stupid idea, even before Peter gave an annoyed growl and simply shrank down to a more human-sized form.

“You’re an irritating little bastard,” Peter informed him, before manhandling him back down onto the cot. His upper body, anyway. His lower half hung over the side, forcing him to kneel. Peter took advantage of the position, pressing himself up against Stiles ass. It was a familiar feeling, Peter grinding against him, but for the first time since he’d met him, being near the man made Stiles feel nauseous.

He tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go, and the movement only made Peter harden against him. Stiles forced himself to stay still; no one was coming to help him, and there was no way a weak human like him could overpower an Alpha.

“Why?” he asked, voice shaking, hoping Peter hadn’t yet finished divulging his master plan.

Luckily, he hadn’t.

“Derek,” the werewolf answered, mouth against the side of Stiles’ neck. His tongue left a disgustingly moist feeling, while his stubble (or fur) irritated the sensitive skin. “He likes you. A lot, I think.”

Stiles didn’t know if that was true or not, but knowing how possessive the younger Alpha was, this was probably a good way to get him angry, at the very least. “He finds me kind of annoying, actually. Why does it matter?”

One of Peter’s hands — the one that wasn’t wrapped painfully around both his wrists — slid downwards, claws scratching lightly at the boy’s belly. Stiles reminded himself not to move, not to do anything that would make Peter lose interest in hearing his own voice.

“Because the little shit needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Why do you hate him? He’s never done anything to you.”

The hand paused, which would have been good, except that the corresponding claws started to press into Stiles’ skin.

“If he hadn’t been fucking Kate Argent, and telling her things he shouldn’t have, my family would still be alive.”

_What?_

“Honestly, he just doesn’t learn. He’s always had this bizarre attraction to your kind. He goes from one human to another, and someone always gets hurt as a result. He killed our family, as surely as if he’d set the fire himself. Everything” — the claws slid back up, stopping just below Stiles’ ribs before sliding back down — “is his fault, and you’re just going to end up another victim of his stupidity.”

“You’re seriously blaming _this_ on him?!” Stiles snapped. It occurred to him that this was a worse time than usual to anger the unstable Alpha, but the words slipped out anyway: “Derek can be an idiot, but it’s not his fault you’re a sick fuck. That’s all you!”

The hand slipped inside Stiles’ pants and he couldn’t stop himself from yelping when the claws stabbed at the most sensitive parts of his anatomy.

“I’m making a point, Stiles.” Peter’s voice was calm, and his tone suggested he was trying to explain something to a particularly slow child. “Our species were never meant to coexist — bad things just end up happening to both sides; that one thing me and the Argents can agree on.” Overly-sharp teeth nibbled at Stiles’ earlobe. “I mean, really, how long did you think you could keep this up?”

_Don’t struggle. Don’t struggle. Keep him talking._ “Keep what up?” Stiles asked. His heart was beating so fast now, _he_ could hear it.

“Scott. Derek. Having one foot in both worlds. Did you think it would last?”

“It was lasting just fine until you decided to screw everything up!”

Peter chuckled. “The Argents would have found out eventually. I suspect Gerard, at least, has known for a while.”

“Aren’t you worried that he knows about you, too?”

“He’ll be dead by the end of tonight, along with the rest of his family, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Wha -? How — ?”

“Shhh.” Fangs grazed Stiles’ neck. “Look at me.”

Something in Peter’s tone changed, his voice becoming quieter and deeper. Stiles had heard those three words before, said in exactly the same way, and he knew what it meant. Peter was down answering questions.

Stiles shook his head, his whole body tensing right along with Peter’s, though for a completely different reason. The Alpha pressed down on him more firmly, his fingers tugging at Stiles’ pants.

“Look at me or I’ll gut you and strangle you with your own intestines.”

His tone was playful, like was only threatening to make Stiles late for dinner again, or something equally benign. And that made it scarier.

Stiles turned his head to the side, meeting the Alpha’s red eyes. “I’m going to make you scream,” he said softly, his lips brushing Stiles’.

Then Peter was inexplicably standing up and reaching for his discarded clothes. Stiles threw himself to the side with a sharp gasp, pressing his back against the opposite wall.

Peter smiled at him, looking contrarily affectionate for someone who had been seconds away from becoming a rapist. “I really hope you survive tonight. Because I would very much like to finish this.”

Stiles watched him walk to the cell door, and reach around with the key to unlock it. He stepped out and shut it quietly, giving the boy one last smile before disappearing down the hall. Stiles didn’t start breathing again until the light from his lantern was gone, and he was left alone in the dark.

To anyone watching, like the hunters that came for him a few minutes later, he appeared fairly calm. He let himself be pulled out of the cell and led down the hall without a complaint. If they had been werewolves, however, they would have heard the way his heart was racing, and smelled his panic.

Because, knowing what Peter had planned for him after getting rid of the Argents, he suddenly wasn’t sure surviving tonight was really his best option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, so that's most of the reason that this took so long. I've had this scene planned pretty much since the first outline for the story, but I wasn't actually sure how to write it without turning it into gratuitous rape porn, and I'm not entirely sure I've succeeded in not making in come across as such. 
> 
> Also, I feel like kind of a horrible person for doing this to Stiles.
> 
> Anyway, I await your judgement, dear readers.


	12. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy god, I think this is the longest chapter I've written so far! 
> 
> I actually had to draw myself a diagram for this one, so I would no who was attacking who and where everyone was or was coming from. I really hope it's comprehensible. 
> 
> Just a little note, I edited this chapter kind of fast, so I apologize more any mistakes or peculiarities. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and thank you, thank you, thank you to all my readers for comments, and kudos, and simply reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, to anyone who has seen Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, you may notice that I borrowed a little bit of anachronistic technology from the movie :)

Stiles was led outside, where he promptly found himself surrounded by several armed hunters. The sky was the blue-gray of dusk, and he could see torches being lit and passed to each hunter. Derek had been brought out sometime before, and was seemingly unconscious, hanging limply in the grips of two men. Relief over his being in one piece was short-lived: the werewolf was covered in blood and what looked like small burns, grouped together in twos, running up and down his chest.

_Why isn’t he healing?_

 Kate stood nearby, hands tucked behind her back, looking pleased with herself. “Ready for tonight, handsome?”

At that moment, Stiles noticed Peter standing behind the hunters; his eyes were on the huntress, watching her with a predatory intensity. Even though the look wasn’t directed at him, Stiles’ voice shook when he answered, “Don’t know. What’s going to happen?”

“It’s time to eliminate the threat.” It was Gerard who answered, coming up behind Stiles. The boy’s heart jumped a little as the old hunter brushed past him, with Chris and Victoria at his side. All three of them were heavily armed, like they were about to go into battle.

Allison walked into view a few moments later. A quiver full of arrows was strapped to her back and she was carrying her bow. Stiles could see the hilt of one dagger peeking out from under her right sleeve, and had no doubt that the weapon had multiple sharp, deadly friends concealed on the huntress’ person.

Her face was a mask, betraying not a single thought or emotion, but Stiles noticed the way her thumb stroked circles into the side of her bow.

She was nervous.

Her eyes met his briefly, and her eyebrows dipped slightly.

“Allison.”

The concern was gone in an instant, and she turned to her father with an alert but impassive face.

“Yes?”

“You stay here.”

Allison nodded, but Kate cut in with a frown. “Come on, Chris. This is the biggest hunt of the year. You can’t make her hide behind the wall.”

“We’re taking on three werewolves,” Chris argued. “It’s dangerous. Too dangerous.”

_Three werewolves._

Stiles was glad that they still didn’t seem to know about Scott, but he glanced at Derek’s limp form, concerned that they didn’t seem to consider the Alpha a threat. What had they done to him?

“One kill doesn’t make her a hunter,” Victoria said. “She needs more experience, Chris.”

“Not like this.”

“Victoria is right,” Gerard said firmly.

“But — !”

“ _She comes with us!_ ”

Chris looked like he wanted to argue. He glared at his father, and got as far as opening his mouth to protest. But then something passed between the two men; Chris lowered his gaze, nodding in reluctant approval.

Behind them all, the corner of Peter’s mouth quirked into a small, quick smile. Stiles met his eyes. And, suddenly, he understood.

“Allison can’t go with you!” Stiles blurted out.

Four cold, murderous gazes turned on the boy. Peter’s smile disappeared. He slid forward through the crowd, creeping closer to the Argents.

“Afraid for your little werewolf friends, are you?” Kate asked mockingly, unaware of the predator lurking behind her. Peter was close enough now that he could probably kill her and Allison before anyone could react. He gave the faintest shake of his head, warning Stiles against saying anything else.

“I – I thought you had a code!” Stiles said, addressing Chris. Allison’s father was the only Argent besides Allison who seemed to even remember that rather important fact.

Chris sighed, meeting Stiles’ gaze as he said firmly, “He killed people, Stiles. He dies.” Whatever he might have thought about Allison coming along, the hunt was not something he was participating unwillingly in.

“What?! No, he — ”

Kate reached out and grabbed Stiles’ face, forcing him to look at her. Her nails dug into his jaw as she told him, “I’m going to skin _all_ of them. Alive, so you can hear them scream. And afterwards, I’ll give you your boyfriend’s skull.”

“Kate!”

Kate ignored her brother, tightening her grip enough to leave bruises. “I would give you the skin, but I want it as a souvenir.” She forced his head to the side, so he was looking at Derek. “He’ll make a nice rug, don’t you think?”

Stiles felt a surge of anger, in part because of her threat, but also because he remembered what Peter had told him about her. About what she had done to the Hales.

“I hope he rips your throat out,” he growled. Then he spat in her smug face.

Kate jerked back; her look of surprise was worth the pain of having his arm wrenched farther behind his back by the hunter holding him.

“I’ll be handing you his head long before he gets a chance.” Kate wiped her face. “You can watch me cut it off.”

Stiles could have made another attempt at talking sense into the hunters, could have tried to explain that Derek was innocent. That Peter had killed all those people to frame his nephew.

But he didn’t say anything. He just laughed. Everyone around him shifted uncomfortably, and Allison looked scared, glancing from him and to her aunt, like he was about to sprout fangs and kill the crazy bitch himself. The sound he was producing was slightly crazed, even to his own ears, but he couldn’t help it. Everyone thought he meant Derek. Half-dead, unconscious Derek.

Weren’t they in for a shock?

Still standing quietly among the hunters, Peter smiled, sharing in the private joke.

 

 

As the town gate was slowly drawn open, Stiles realized that he’d never actually walked through it. Not once in his life. Sure, he’d left the town, but never through that gate. He’d only ever seen one person who wasn’t a hunter pass through it: Peter.

The hunters at his back didn’t give him time to enjoy the new experience, shoving him hard when he slowed. He managed to glance back and catch a glimpse of the smiling Alpha before the gate slammed shut.

The hunting party made its way across the cliff, past the clumps of blue flowers. To the spot where Allison had made her first kill, little more than four months before.

The body of the disemboweled Omega still hung from the wooden plank, swaying in a cool breeze. It wasn’t quite a skeleton yet, but there wasn’t enough flesh left to hold it together. The pelvis and everything below laying in a pile on the ground, along with some stray phalanges.

Stiles noticed the way Allison paled and looked away as the rest of the “body” was pulled away from the noose. There was still a tendon or two in the neck that had to be cut away before that could happen, and then the remains were kicked aside.

As he was dragged forward, Stiles remembered how passive he had been while watching the werewolf’s death. How Scott had cheered and congratulated Allison. He had felt some discomfort when the dead wolf had turned into a dead man, but it was a passing concern.

It had just been an animal wearing the skin of human, after all.

Now, he couldn’t look at the bones without seeing Scott or Derek, hanging in their place, dead and slowly rotting away.

The noose was slipped over Stiles’ head and tightened. He was just tall enough that it wasn’t outright choking him, but he found that it hurt to swallow. His wrists were jerked back and tied together with some rough rope, compounding his discomfort.

“Is there some point to this?” he asked, shifting around to test his bonds. He wasn’t getting out of them on his own unless he grew claws. One of the hunter’s stepped forward, holding a bucket in front of him. He lifted it over Stiles’ head, and the boy looked up in time to see the red liquid pour out.

The blood was lukewarm. Stiles jerked against the ropes, coughing and sputtering as he tried to expel the significant amount that had ended up in his mouth. Kate chuckled; Stiles had to blink the blood out of his eyes before he could glare at her.

They had used this trick to lure out the Omega for Allison to kill. “You think a little pig’s blood is going to draw out his pack?” He laughed once, sharply, feeling braver than he thought he would covered in blood. “They’re not starving or stupid.”

“No, Mr. Stilinski. I think he’s going to draw them out.” Gerard pointed at the unconscious Alpha. “Kate.”

 The huntress had had something behind her back since they’d left the town, and she brought it out now as she stepped towards Derek. It was made of a dark metal, and appeared to be an over-sized spool with a crank on the side, and the two prongs coming out the bottom.

Stiles followed her with his eyes as best he could. Derek had been dumped on his side, to the left of him. Kate crouched down and put a hand over his slightly parted lips. Frowning, she pressed two fingers to the side of his neck.

"His heart stopped?” Gerard asked, in a distracted tone. His eyes were focused on the distant trees.

Kate nodded and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. He stared at the werewolf’s chest, searching for any sign that Kate was wrong. He couldn’t be dead. They still needed him. Why would they kill him?

While Stiles fought down a wave of panic, Kate gave an annoyed but unconcerned sigh and pushed Derek over so he was laying on his back. She nodded to Victoria Argent.

She started to turn the crank on the metal contraption. As it began humming, Allison’s mother shot a crossbow bolt into both of the dead werewolf’s knees.

“Stop it!” Stiles cried. Couldn’t they just leave him alone, even now?!

The corner of Kate’s mouth quirked into a smile as she brought the metal thing’s prongs down on Derek’s chest.

Something crackled, and the werewolf’s body jerked upwards, like something had come up under him and punched him. Then, inexplicably, Derek was gasping, his eyes snapping open and flashing red.

“Welcome back, handsome,” Kate said, leaping away from his claws. Someone tossed her a crossbow. Stiles didn’t think that was particularly safe, throwing around a loaded weapon. Unfortunately, it didn’t go off and skewer Kate in whatever she had instead of a heart.

Derek’s face transformed, and Stiles felt a moment’s hope that maybe he would manage to bite into something important, like an artery. But the Alpha noticed the other three Argents surrounding him, all with their own crossbows trained on him, and made the admittedly safer decision to growl after her, as she made her way back to Stiles’ side.

Derek’s eyes fell on the boy then; something in his expression changed, though it was hard to tell what through the twisted wolf features.

“What are you doing?” he growled, looking back at Gerard.

“To young Mr. Stilinski? Nothing,” the old hunter answered. After a sinister pause, he added, “If you cooperate.”

That was a lie. Gerard had threatened to kill him along with the werewolves.

Derek started to push himself up; every muscle in his back seemed to tense when he made the mistake of trying to move his legs.

“Call your pack,” Chris ordered. “This ends now.”

“Don’t do it!” Stiles said. Several pairs of eyes fixed on him, most looking like they would happily kill him on the spot. “He’s going to kill me either way.”

“We won’t,” Chris argued. “Not if you do as we ask.”

“Since when do you speak for your father?” Chris glared at the boy. “Don’t listen to him. Gerard won’t let me live, no matter what he says.”

Derek’s was silent for a few heartbeats, before giving the hunter a very emphatic , “No.”

Chris’s fingers tightened on the crossbow. “ _Call them! Now!”_

The force of the shout seemed out of place, in contrast with the rest of his family’s calmness.

Derek just stared back, not even bothering with a shake of his head. Stiles was watching the man as well, terrified that he would pull the trigger, so he was unaware of what Kate was doing until the sharp edge of a knife had sliced across the inside of his left thigh.

Derek’s head jerked around, eyes widening at Stiles’ gasp. His nostrils flared, smelling the fresh blood.

“Damn it, Kate!” Chris cried. “You said you would wait.”

“I did,” she answered, before informing Derek of the obvious: “I cut pretty deep. Might have hit a vein, going by how much he’s bleeding” — Stiles couldn’t look down enough to see it, but he could feel the blood pulsing out of the cut and running down his leg — “I don’t think he has long.”

“He’s human,” Derek said.

_Way to be persuasive,_ Stiles thought, an ill-timed laugh bubbling up in his throat.

Kate _tsk-_ ed. “I know. And he has such adorable brown eyes, too.”

Derek tried to move a leg, growling at the pain. “You have to stop the bleeding.” Kate shrugged, not even looking at Stiles. Derek turned to Chris. “He’s going to die!”

“Call your pack, and we’ll help him,” Chris said quietly.

Derek let out a frustrated growl. “They’ve never killed anyone! They’re just kids. Leave them alone!”

Allison, who had been growing increasingly pale, looked incredibly lost. Her eyes flickered from one relative to the other, as though she couldn’t believe what they were doing. When Chris looked away from the Alpha, unhappy but obviously unwilling to go against his family’s decision, whatever his personal opinion, Allison took a step back, shrinking even farther behind her mother and grandfather.

“He’s starting to look really pale, Derek,” Kate said, giving Stiles a sympathetic pout.

Her face started to blur, and Stiles found it hard to focus as he became increasingly light-headed. _I’m going to die_ , he thought. _Derek won’t let his pack be killed for me. I’m going to die._ He thought of the looks on Gerard and Kate’s faces when their plan failed, and almost chuckled.

They would still kill Derek, he realized, whether tonight was successful or not.

He struggled weakly, trying to reach his fingers up towards his wrists. Maybe he could grab onto the rope. Or even a loose strand. Anything that would allow him to free himself, before it was too late.

Derek’s howl cut through the blood-loss-induced dizziness.

_No, no, no!_

Stiles’ head bobbed up, and he had to blink and squint before he was able to find Derek’s form among all the other gray, fuzzy shapes.

Another howl rose up, answering from farther away.

“No!” Allison cried, echoing Stiles’ thoughts. “Scott, no!”

“Scott?” Kate said. Someone else ordered the hunters to fire.

_Fuck!_ Stiles resumed his efforts, twisting and reaching until the ropes were burning at his wrists. _Come on, come on. You can do it!_ He pictured the rope, pictured that one loose strand that was dangling just within reach

There were more howls, and an angry shout of “Allison!”

“Victoria!” Kate called. “The Betas!”

There were growls, and crossbows being fired, and a wordless shout that sounded like it came from Derek.

Stiles drowned them all out, all his focus on that imaginary strand. He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching, reaching . . . Until his fingers brushed that little piece of rope.

There was a scream and Allison’s voice: “Scott, stop! It’s me!”

“Kill the Alpha!”

Stiles’ pulled, and felt the ropes loosen around his wrists. No longer tied, he tried to stumble forward, the rope around his neck choking him for just a second before it too fell away. With nothing but his own vanishing strength to hold him up, Stiles hit the ground.

The world spun. What was happening? Was anyone hurt? All the shapes were spinning, making no sense. How much blood had he lost? Stiles managed to roll over; the spinning lessened somewhat, now that all he had to look at was the darkening navy sky. He reached down, shaking fingers finding the cut on his thigh.

_It’s not that bad,_ he told himself. _Not that bad. The bleeding is slowing. Slowing . . . You’re fine. Fine, fine, fine._

With some difficulty, Stiles turned his head.

All the hunters had their crossbows aimed, some towards the forest, and some towards Allison.

Stiles was confused, until he saw the dark-furred wolf pressed up against her, its legs spread wide and wobbling, as though it didn’t know how to stand. Despite the unsteadiness, the wolf was snarling at the Argents, warning them away from the girl.

“Scott?” Stiles whispered uncertainly

“What the hell?” The business end of a crossbow was suddenly being pointed at Stiles’ face; looking up past the bolt’s sharp tip, he found Kate Argent’s face, twisted in a surprised, angry snarl. “I don’t know how you did that, you little bastard, but you’re done.”

A dark shape slammed into her as she squeezed the trigger; the bolt went into the ground, close enough to Stiles’ head that his heart needed a few seconds to remember how to beat properly.

Despite his arms shaking from a mixture of shock and lack of blood, Stiles’ managed to prop himself up on his elbows.

A big black wolf stood between him and Kate, the fur on its hind legs wet with blood, the fur along its back bristling as it growled at the huntress. Her crossbow lay a few feet away, broken in two.

A movement out of the corner of his eye drew Stiles’ gaze to the smaller, pale wolf stalking towards Kate. Isaac. The Beta looked every bit as terrifying as his Alpha, and seemed more than ready to tear Kate to pieces.

“Put your crossbows down,” a voice said from behind Stiles, “or the bitch gets her throat ripped out.”

Small, strong hands slipped under Stiles’ arms, pulling him to his feet before slipping his arm over delicate shoulders.

Erica watched the hunters with alert, golden eyes, as she spoke around a mouthful of sharp teeth. She looked every bit as threatening as Boyd, standing beside her in wolf form, and didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, despite the fact that she was completely naked in front of a dozen strangers, most of them men.

Stiles looked down without thinking, and had a few seconds to appreciate the sight of her generous breasts before Boyd snarled at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, turning his attention to the less pleasant sight of the werewolf/hunter standoff.

“Put your weapons down!” Chris ordered, lowering his own. In the same instant, Gerard shouted, “Shoot them, you idiots!”

“Do it!” Kate reached behind her back. “Kill them!”

“No!”

The hunters looked at each other and at their leaders, fingers slipping hesitantly from triggers as they waited uncertainly. Everyone was so focused on Gerard, Chris, and Kate that Allison’s initial query of, “What is that?” went unheeded. It wasn’t until she screamed, “Dad!” that heads started to turn. But by the time the hunters started to cry out in alarm, and raised their crossbows, it was too late.

Peter was already rushing into their midst.

Blood flew in every direction as the monstrous Alpha slashed out at the hunters, slashing limbs and breaking necks. Stiles felt Erica shrink back with the tiniest of gasps as Peter clamped his teeth onto one man’s arm and tore it off at the shoulder. The Alpha turned his gaze on Allison, blood dripping from his jaws; Scott stepped in front of her, growling at the werewolf that was three times his size and much stronger.

After a few seconds, Peter let out one of his huffing laughs and turned away. Stiles doubted it had anything to do with his brother — he would have been easy for the Alpha to tear apart — he suspected the Peter was going after more significant prey, something to satisfy his need for revenge, now that the Argents and Derek’s pack had failed to kill one another.

The Alpha’s eyes scanned the humans that were left, stopping on each of the Argents — Chris, wide-eyed but determined; Victoria, leaning against her husband and clutching a bleeding shoulder; Gerard, temporarily distracted from bringing about Derek’s death. All of them were aiming at the Alpha, even Allison, who brought her crossbow up somewhat belatedly. He even stopped on Stiles, for a bit, one corner of his mouth curling upwards.

It was Kate that he finally stopped on, a roar ripping out of him, loud enough that Stiles could have sworn he felt it in his bones. Every crossbow fired; some bolts hit the Alpha, but most were brushed aside by massive paw. Peter didn’t seem that concerned by the ones that did hit. He didn’t even bother pulling them out before he rushed forward again.

Victoria was the first obstacle, stepping forward with only a knife. Stiles barely had a chance to wonder why she would do something so stupid before Peter was clawing her out of the way. Allison screamed and let her crossbow drop, forgetting it as she rushed to her mother’s side.

Gerard managed to get another bolt in the werewolf’s side, and dodge a swipe form his deadly paw, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. Chris had just started reloading, distracted by his wife’s failed attack, when Peter finally reached Kate.

Derek backed off, ears flat against his head, but Isaac leaped at the enemy Alpha, teeth out and ready to rip off a piece. His ribs crunched as Peter’s paw connected with his side; Isaac yelped as he hit the ground, and didn’t get up.

Peter ripped the bolts out as he started to shrink, fur receding, paws turning into hands and feet, and his wolf’s face giving way to that of a gleefully grinning man with blood covering the lower half of his face.

Kate’s knife was out and ready, and sank into his ribs just as Chris fired into his shoulder. Peter hardly acknowledged either injury, still grinning as he grabbed Kate by the throat.

“Remember me?” he asked, stroking her hair. He seemed oblivious both to Chris coming up behind him, curved knife in hand, and the pain he had to be feeling as Kate ripped her knife out of his side and stabbed it back in. “Peter. Hale. You burned my family alive.”

He didn’t wait for any acknowledgement, or even a hint of recognition. He simply placed a hand on either side of her head, and ripped it off her shoulders.

Then he turned around, the blood covering his whole face and running off his shoulders. He stopped Chris’ arm from driving the curved blade into his side, and twisted sharply. The bone snapped audibly, and the hunter fell to his knees with a cry. Peter lowered his head, as though preparing to tear out Chris’ throat with his teeth, but a dark shape slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and away from the hunter. 

Scott did better than Isaac, actually managing to latch on to Peter’s left wrist. He yelped when the Alpha’s claws dug into the back of his neck; he was flung away easily, but another dark wolf quickly replaced him, and Derek didn’t make the mistake of letting his uncle get his claws into him.

He took a quick bite out of Peter, ripping a chunk of flesh out of his hip, then jumping out of reach. He raced around  as Peter struggled to stand, and delivered a quick bite to the back of his leg before leaping away again.

Boyd howled before joining his Alpha, and Scott stood shakily and threw himself back into the fray.

“I’m letting you go,” Erica said, shifting into her flaxen-colored wolf form before Stiles could protest, and running to join her pack. Stiles almost fell over, still weak after losing so much blood. The effort it took to defy gravity and stay on his feet left him shaking and dizzy, and the snarling storm of fur attacking Peter swirled together for a few seconds.

When his vision cleared, Peter had shifted back into his wolf form, and was scattering the much smaller assailants. A swipe of his paw almost took off Erica’s head, and his teeth snapped together just inches from Derek’s face. Scott, who was unfamiliar with his new body, ended up caught under Peter paw.

Stiles took a stumbling forward as his brother cried out, not sure what he was going to do, but intending nonetheless to prevent Peter from breaking Scott’s back.

Allison’s arrow reached the Alpha before Stiles did, hitting Peter right in the middle of his chest. The young huntress walked past Stiles, bow in hand and firing one arrow after another. Her crossbow lay next to her mother, who didn’t appear to be breathing.

Derek and his Betas eyed her wearily for a few seconds, as though making sure she wasn’t going to start shooting _them,_ before resuming their attack on the distracted Alpha.

The arrows were easier to pull out than the bolts, but they fired much faster, and the combination of feathered projectiles and razor-sharp teeth quickly left Peter looking like a bloody porcupine. Despite his superior size, he was slowly forced back, towards the edge of the cliff.

The fight was no longer in his favor, and for a time it seemed like the combination of wolf and hunter would drive him over the cliff.

But Allison was running out of arrows, and Derek’s Betas were growing overconfident as Peter tired.

Scott was the first to join the still-unconscious Isaac, his shoulder crunching horribly as Peter threw him aside. Then Peter’s claws found Erica’s face, and Boyd, distracted by her yelp, had a large piece of flesh ripped out of his back.

Realizing that his whole pack was now seriously injured, Derek ceased his attack and stepped away to pace in front of his uncle from a safe distance. Allison stayed well behind him, bow pointed down, her last arrow waiting between her fingers.

Chest heaving, Peter again assumed his human form.

After a short hesitation, Derek did the same.

“Uncle.”

“Nephew.”

“That’s a handy little pack of Betas you have there,” Peter said, pulling out the two arrows embedded in his right shoulder.

Derek nodded in agreement. “This might have ended differently if you had one as well.”

Peter showed his bloody teeth. “Who says it’s over?”

Derek must have raised an eyebrow or something, because Peter chuckled, coughing up a little blood in the process.

“I considered turning him” — he nodded in Stiles’ direction — “but a Beta would have made it harder to hide. And he had other uses.”

Derek growled, and Stiles could help but worry that Peter was trying to do what he’d done so easily the night before: get his nephew angry.

“Besides, it was fun watching him try to figure out who was killing all those people. He can be such an oblivious little slut, can’t he?”

Derek didn’t take the bait, but his fingers were curling and uncurling at his side, claws out.

Stiles walked forward a few steps. When Peter remained focused on his nephew, he closed the distance between himself and Allison. She jumped a little when he took his place silently beside her, arm slipping behind her back.

“What are you doing?” she whispered

“Be ready to fire,” he told her, watching the Alphas.

“He’s got an amazing ass, right?” Peter was saying, casually removing a few more arrows as he spoke. “You can fuck him until he passes out and can’t walk, but he’s just as tight and eager the next time.”

Stiles felt his face heat up, and he was grateful that Allison didn’t give any indication that she could hear what Peter was saying.

“Nothing? Seriously?” Peter crossed his arms. “You’re just going to let me talk about your boyfriend like that? _Our_ boyfriend, really.”

“Two years,” Derek said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve spent two years of my life chasing you, and now it’s over. Nothing you say can save you.”

Peter’s eyebrows drifted upwards, and the corner of his mouth stretched into a wordless _Really?_

“I paid him a visit tonight, you know.” Stiles tensed. This was it. “He was a little distracted, but I kind of liked it. The willingness was starting to get boring, and he puts up a pretty good fight, for a human.”

Derek didn’t attack, but he made the mistake of looking back at Stiles. That moment of distraction was all Peter needed to get behind Derek and wrap an arm around his throat. Derek clawed at his uncle’s arm, choking; Peter forced him forward, closer to the edge of the cliff, and buried his claws in his stomach.

“Once I’m finished with him, I think I _will_ bite him,” Peter said. He twisted his claws, forcing a choked cry from Derek. “He’ll be even more fun as a werewolf. Unless he dies, like Paige. It’d be a shame, but not surprising. Your humans have a tendency to die, don’t — ”

Stiles threw his full weight behind Allison’s dagger. It sank into Peter’s back, all the way up to the hilt, and as the Alpha spun around with an angry snarl, Allison’s last arrow pierced the side of his neck, leaving a huge slash as it sliced clean through, trailing a fine, red mist behind it at it disappeared over the cliff.

Derek slipped out of his uncle’s grasp, coughing, and Peter looked at Stiles, somewhat shocked. New blood ran out from between his lips and streamed out of the neck wound. He stumbled back a step, and Stiles through himself against the Alpha one more time, sending them both over the side of the cliff.

Peter fell away, rushing towards the white-foaming waters below, and disappearing out of sight, while Stiles only felt an instant of weightlessness before Derek grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him out of danger.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Derek croaked, a thin trail of blood running out the corner of his mouth. He gave the boy’s shoulders a few rough shakes, which did nothing to help Stiles’ tenuous grip on consciousness

“Saving your life,” Stiles said matter-of-factly, a single laugh escaping him as his vision started to fade again. “I’m going to take a nap now.”

“What? No, Stiles, stay — ”

 

 

He didn’t wake up gradually this time. Consciousness came suddenly, and with it, a sense that he had forgotten something. A dream about . . . a tree?

Whatever it was would have to wait, because the first thing Stiles saw was Gerard Argent’s face, watching him with a calculating stare. And waking up to that was enough to banish all other thoughts from Stiles’ mind.

Gerard opened his mouth, no doubt about to deliver some threatening monologue, but Stiles stopped him with an angry wave of his hand.

“I’ve almost died twice in the last two months, and each time I’ve had to wake up and deal with you threats and your ugly face. So either kill me now, because I will _never_ help you hurt my friends, or fuck off already.”

The old hunter blinked slowly, his thinning lips making his lack of amusement clear.

“Unfortunately, I can’t do either just yet, Mr. Stilinski.”

“And why is that?”

“Because your wolves seem to have run off with my granddaughter, and you’re going to bring her home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, for anyone who hasn't seen the aforementioned movie, that was a hand-cranked taser that Kate used. And, yes, there was a point to it other than me simply thinking it was a cool idea.


End file.
